


Spellbound

by crimson_calamity



Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fae, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Angst, Eventual Smut, Fae & Fairies, Horror, M/M, Magic, Other: See Story Notes, Romance, Sexual Content, a bit of blood, brief references to self-harm/suicide, more spooky than full on horror tho, scary faery au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-01
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2020-07-28 16:57:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 58,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20067430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimson_calamity/pseuds/crimson_calamity
Summary: Jaebeom’s always had the sight, the ability to see things hidden to the mundane eye, the creatures that lurk behind and manipulate the veil. He’s never wanted it, wished he could lose it more times than he can count, but things are what they are and he’s managed to make it work, keep his so-called gift hidden and himself alive. He follows the rules and keeps his head down and so far, nothing untoward has happened.Until now at least; now he’s being followed by a faery. Faery royalty no less. Just perfect.Rule three: don’t stare at invisible faeriesRule two: don’t speak to invisible faeriesRule one: don’t ever attract their attention





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> hello friends and welcome!! to the scary faery au!! this verse is heavily influenced by the book "wicked lovely" by Melissa Marr and its sequels BUT that being said I haven't read any of them in coming up to ten years so like how true aspects are to the book is Questionable but yeah
> 
> This being said, there's some general warnings that come with stories of this ilk, given that the premise of faeries from that series is them being mostly invisible tricksters that like fucking with humans so there will be some of That involved, as well as jaebeom getting stalked by faeries throughout, though he's always able to see them/is always aware of them. Also, due to the nature of faeries and magic and the kind of themes in this story, there will be a general low-lying threat of magical coercion/persuasion, though I will say now that there will be no noncon in this fic and due to the nature of his abilities jaeb will be aware of any magic cast on him, regardless of what kind and if things veer towards dubcon I will warn at the beginning of the chapter (right now as of how much I've written it hasn't, but yeah, just in case). I can't think of any other warnings right now and if I go into much more detail about the above I might start spoiling things so just take care of yourself folks!! if there's anything else I haven't mentioned that you think I should, please let me know what it is in a comment below/message on cc/twt (links at the end) but yeah!! enjoy!!
> 
> a song for this first chapter: [AViVA - HUSHH](https://youtu.be/joOc4KfmcXE) it doesn't fit this chapter particularly but I couldn't find one that did and its Cool and Creepy and will become more relevant so :^)

Jaebeom’s felt invisible eyes on him all morning. This isn’t particularly unusual, but it doesn’t get any less unsettling with time. Still, he does what he always does and ignores it, focussing on keeping a stiff smile on his face as he takes order after order of overly complicated coffees and blessedly simple requests for pastries. The bustle of the coffee shop is reassuring - even just the smell of coffee makes him feel safe now - since  _they_, for all their bold mischievousness, tend to avoid crowded man-made spaces, or at least restrict their interference within them to a minimum. 

None of this has stopped the faery that’s staring at him now though. It’s sat at a table over to the far left with an almost untouched and surely cold latte sat in front of it and it hasn’t looked away from him once in the last forty minutes. It’s not even trying to hide it, even when Jaebeom glances over it in a facade of surveying the whole cafe; thankfully it’s glamoured to be visible to normal humanity, a thin veneer of human semblance pasted over green-tinged skin, pointed ears and too many teeth. The glamour is handsome too, a man around Jaebeom’s age with a flawless complexion and hard muscles under its tight t-shirt and jeans, handsome enough that it’s gathering enough stares to itself, but its own doesn’t waver. 

A cup smashes close to the faery, knocked to the ground by a mother’s careless elbow as she attempts to clean her child’s face of chocolate icing. Jaebeom rounds the counter and picks the dustpan, the matching brush long missing, from beneath it, wishing fervently he wasn’t the only one free to do so at that particular moment. The mother babbles some apologies as he approaches that he hastily waves away - the cup was empty, it’s just a few large shards and a little dust, it’s no real issue - before crouching down to gather the pieces. The faery’s eyes burn the back of his neck, barely five metres away from him. He fumbles the pieces just through his own frayed nerves, hands shaking and fingers numb.

Cup finally gathered into the dustpan, Jaebeom straightens up. Bad luck has him facing the faery directly, head lifting to meet its eyes. He almost drops the cup again, overcorrecting and gripping the dustpan so tight it hurts, the handle’s plastic edges digging into his palm. It smiles at him, the glamour’s small and polite and the real thing’s wide and alarming. It has so many teeth and they’re all so  _sharp_ . Jaebeom forces a smile back, wooden and rigid and the best he can manage right now, before turning on his heel.

“Oh, excuse me?” Comes a voice from behind him, deep and a little husky. There’s another voice underneath it, almost the same but the two sounds are just a touch out of sync. Jaebeom swallows with a dry click before turning around again.

“Yes?” He asks as evenly as he can. Another smile, wider and toothier but outwardly worried. 

“Your hand is bleeding.” The faery says, all sympathy outside and secretly delighted. The glamour stares at his face for an answer while the fae’s gaze stays fixed on his bloody fingers - a slice from the edge of a porcelain shard, deep enough to drip all over the pieces. 

“Oh. I- I’m sorry, thank you for telling me.” Jaebeom mumbles, bowing his head apologetically; the faery flinches while the glamour remains still, smile fading into something disgusted. But then it returns, full force and wicked and both faery and glamour lean forwards a little, chin on a hand and that elbow on the stained table.

“No problem-” its eyes flick down to Jaebeom’s chest and back up, lips curling a little wider- “Jaebeom.” The sound of his own name hits Jaebeom like he’s been punched in the gut; his breath rushes out but he manages not to gasp it back in, forcing himself to keep smiling. He nods once shortly, turning on his heel after a long enough pause not to seem suspicious and heading to the counter. He gets one or two concerned looks as he dumps the stained porcelain into a bin, the bloody dustpan with it, but he ignores them, cradling his sore hand as he halfway runs for the single staff bathroom. He locks the door, turns his back to it and slumps against the wall beside it, covering his mouth with his clean hand and squeezing his eyes shut, breath coming in tight laboured pants; a faery knows his name. He shouldn’t have worn his nametag today. Why did it want to know? Can it tell, does it know he can see through the veil? He slowly slides to the floor - no, it can’t know, he’s too careful - drawing his knees up and hanging his spinning head between them. It doesn’t really help, his vision fading into flashing spots - it’s just playing with him, that’s what they do, they’re tricksters and tormentors,  _ this is what they do _ , their whims are alien and incomprehensible - so he just tries to concentrate on breathing, in and out, nice and slow, one careful inhale and exhale at a time. 

It helps. Soon the brief panic attack eases, leaving him drained and heavy on the filthy bathroom floor. Gingerly, he picks himself up, grimacing at the drying blood on his hand, running down his wrist, staining the cuff of his shirt a rusty brown. He turns the tap on, washing it clean as best he can; of course, he reopens the cut in the process and he’s forced to hold a wad of loo roll to his finger as he dries his hand, but he thankfully finds a few plasters stashed in the pocket of his apron. 

He wasn’t gone long enough to raise any eyebrows, but he gets a couple of dirty looks from co-workers forced to deal with a small rush of people with one less set of hands. Grimacing an apology, he rolls up his sleeves and gets to making drinks. The faery is gone, latte still untouched, when Jaebeom risks a glance; he breathes a little lighter but every fleeting sound has him twitching for the rest of his shift. 

It’s getting dark as Jaebeom heads towards home. Not straight from work; his shift finished mid-afternoon and he’d wished for nothing more than to return home and sleep the rest of the day away but, unfortunately, his university does not accept “terrorised by ancient invisible beings” as mitigating circumstances for late coursework, so he’s returning from the library. The nights are starting to lengthen and chill as the summer bleeds into autumn, but for now the leaves of the park Jaebeom cuts through are still green and there’s enough heat in the day to render the evenings just cool rather than cold. Jaebeom rubs his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie pulled down over his hand, rucksack heavy with stacked notes and his laptop. 

Something hard bounces off the back of his head. Jaebeom stops dead, rubbing the smarting soon-to-be-bruise and turning around. Cursing under his breath, he looks around and down, kicking at the projectile - a small piece of slate off a nearby driveway - and lifting his head again. 

Movement to his left, too fast to be human, then twin giggles. Ice shoots down Jaebeom’s spine, spreading through his nerves and numbing his fingers and toes. He forces himself not to react, like he heard nothing untoward, then turns around again and starts walking again. Why him, why now, why today of all days? Another pair of giggles and Jaebeom almost trips over his own feet, but he corrects himself and keeps walking. They like the park, he should have known better than to come this way, especially today.

“Is that really him then?” One of them whispers, barely two feet behind him. The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, dread a heavy leaden lump in his belly. 

“That’s the one Jackson was watching today.” The other voice murmurs, pondering. It’s even closer and Jaebeom forces himself to keep walking as two figures bound in front of him, slipping a hand into his pocket to close his fingers around his keys. One of them is on all fours and foxlike with too-large eyes and a bloody muzzle, walking alongside him and leaving a glittering trail behind it - frost, lingering for a few seconds before melting into the grass. The other is humanoid, maybe half Jaebeom’s height and painfully thin, skin clinging to its ribcage and its cheeks hollowed out, eyes wide and dead white. It walks backwards in front of him, tapping a bony finger against its thin blue lips. Neither of them wears a visible glamour, so Jaebeom keeps his eyes up, staring resolutely at the winding path before him and the gate beyond. He clutches at his keyrings, a little silver-plated stylised cat and a Celtic knot, a symbol of protection in wrought iron. They don’t feel like much protection right now, but right now they’re all he’s got. 

“It’s pretty I suppose,” the fox says derisively, fluffy tail swishing side to side and deliberately brushing the side of Jaebeom’s knee, “not much of it. Not much to sink your teeth into.” It snaps its jaws and barks a laugh. The other giggles again, dancing closer to Jaebeom. 

“I don’t think the Prince wants to eat this one.” It coos, kicking at Jaebeom’s foot and cackling when he stumbles. Panicking and trying desperately not to show it - what  _ Prince _ is interested in him? - Jaebeom hoists his bag higher on his shoulders and continues walking. One step at a time. Just as far as the gate, huge, heavy, iron. Cold iron. He can shut it behind him, keep them back long enough to lose them. 

“Oho, no, I suppose not.” The fox chuffs, then opens its muzzle wide to loose a scream, loud and deliberate, to be heard by humans and induce fear. Jaebeom jumps and shrinks down, a touch grateful for the excuse to speed up. Both fae start cackling, speeding up to stay beside him. “Jumpy little thing.” Its voice twists, distorts and there’s an awful cracking, snapping, squelching sound beside him. Jaebeom doesn’t look, pretends he doesn’t see the brackish blood splattering the grass beside him. 

“Thought you missed having four legs?” The dead thing asks. What was the fox thing, now a tall spindly humanoid with a fox-like head, snaps its jaws over Jaebeom’s head.

“Well I missed walking on two too!” The two start bickering, slowing to a stop as they approach the park gate. Tears prickling in his wide eyes, Jaebeom shrugs through it before they notice him slip away, levering it shut again behind him and hurrying into the street beyond. The streetlights are starting to flicker on, bright orange and stinging his dry eyes, but the big steel shapes are comforting, the artificial light reassuring and safe.

Safe. He’s safe, he’s nearly home. He can get inside, lock his doors, they can’t come in without permission. He’ll start wearing silver again tomorrow, silver earrings and silver studs in his lip and the cold iron rings his grandmother gave to him when she realised he could see. She replaced them as he grew up, the same final set still in their box in his bedside table. Hell, he’ll even salt his windowsill if he really gets scared. He’s nearly safe now. 

He turns the last corner, night fully fallen now. It’s cloudy, a chill, unseasonal even, hanging in the air. No light from the sky, just harsh orange streetlights and white spilling from windows onto the pavement. A floodlight in a driveway flicks on as Jaebeom passes, making him jump. He hurries to his building, tugging his keys out of his pocket with a reassuring familiar clink. Hands shaking, he misses the lock a couple of times but gets it in on the third try, twists it and falls through the door gratefully, slumping with a huge sigh of relief when it clicks shut behind him.

The back of his neck prickles, burns. Without thinking, Jaebeom turns, looking out through the smudged glass in the door.

He meets a pair of eyes. Bright and shifting colours, glowing in the tiny park across the street, hidden, a silhouette behind the orange cascading from a streetlight. Jaebeom stares. He stares, heart in his throat, wishing he could believe that it’s just a cat’s eyes reflecting the light, but it isn’t.

The faery steps forwards, out of the shadow and into the light. It’s too far to see clearly, too far and smudged, smeared by the dirty glass, but it looks human-shaped and its eyes keep glowing. Jaebeom sees it smile, lift a hand, palm out and fingers splayed. It waves, a little cheeky thing, before it steps back again and melts into the darkness.

Spell broken, Jaebeom turns on his heel and flees up the stairs. He’s shaking all over by the time he shoves through into his flat, slamming the door shut and locking it, deadbolting it, dragging the little table beside the coat hooks in front of it before staggering backwards and dropping to his knees, curling up with his head in his hands. In one day, he’s broken every single one of his rules. 

He’ll be lucky if he lives to see the end of the week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! hope u enjoyed this first, fairly short chapter, a bit of a taster of what's to come, I'll be back with more in like a week and a half, I'm going on holiday next week so won't have my laptop with me until a week on Tuesday <3 as always, please come talk to me!! you can do so down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!!


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back...... nice and early for once ahsskfsd i got a bunch more written for this so i figured i'd update before i go on holiday so there'll be less of a wait between chapters <3 enjoy!! Your song for this chapter is [far out - strangers](https://youtu.be/INo9yYZM8ds) which will become.... more relevant as time goes on but suits this chapter too :^)

Jaebeom doesn't sleep well after that. Painfully exhausted and squinting against the bright lights, he slides into a seat at the back of the lecture theatre and hunkers down. He gets a few glances back at him, a couple worried and a few more irritated with his slight lateness. He ignores them, fishing out a notebook and a pen and tries to listen to the lecturer. She drones on and on, slides flicking past about ancient Greek mythology, but Jaebeom barely hears her, eyelids heavy and white noise buzzing in his head.

His hand moves, doodling unconsciously on the margin of the page. He drifts, cheek propped on his right palm, but not enough to fall asleep. He barely dared sleep in his own flat all weekend and halfway into the week, let alone here; he'll crash soon, pass out for a good fourteen hours or something, but he stays awake for now, unable to stop running through the situation in his head. A Prince seems to be interested in him. This couldn’t get much worse, Court fae are more powerful than solitaries anyway and from the  _ actual  _ Court itself, a  _ titled  _ faery? He may as well get his death certificate signed now. 

The hour passes before he realises; he jolts at the sudden rise in volume, chattering and zippers and rustling of paper. He blinks hard and rubs his eyes, flipping his notebook shut and stuffing it back into his bag. 

Someone clears their throat to his left and he jumps again, scrambling to his feet with an apologetic smile at the impatient group waiting for him to exit the row. Slinging his rucksack onto his shoulder, he stumbles down the stairs and out into the corridor, onward into the sunlight. Head down, he hurries out of the way of the masses bustling in and out of the theatre, making for the smaller, quieter cafe where he regularly spends his breaks between lectures.

It's blissfully quiet when he enters, soft music playing from speakers behind the counter and the warm smell of coffee and baking filling the air. Jaebeom breathes out, trudging up to the cashier.

"Large black coffee?" Bambam asks before he can even speak, shooting him a grin. Jaebeom smiles weakly and nods, digging some change out of his pocket and passing it over. Bambam isn't a friend per se, just the guy who's usually working when Jaebeom comes in, but Jaebeom comes here a lot, so they see enough of each other. Maybe they are friends. Jaebeom could certainly use a few more of those. "Rough day?" Bambam asks as he rings up Jaebeom's purchase, glancing between the register and his face with a furrowed brow. Jaebeom lifts a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug.

"Not sleeping well." He mumbles, grimacing when he looks away and catches sight of himself in the glass of the pastry counter - pale, haggard, eyes sunken and almost bruised. Bambam hums.

"Go sit down, I'll bring this over to you." He says gently, jerking his chin over to the row of booths at the back, Jaebeom’s favourite place to sit. Smiling shakily, Jaebeom shuffles over to them, retreating to the one furthest from the door and plopping down into the cushy leather seat with a deep sigh. He fumbles with his bag, getting out his laptop and notebook to attempt to go over the last lecture. His headphones are still stuck into the machine and he plugs them in, opening up the lid to find a stack of new emails. Absently, he flips his notebook open as he skims through general messages from the university and spam from sites he forgot to refuse emails from, eventually finding the lecture slides from this morning and opening them up too. 

He freezes when he glances down at his notebook, goosebumps shivering up his spine; a pair of eyes rendered in black biro stare back up at him from the margin of the page, eyes that were burned into his mind, exactly like he remembers them, except he  _ doesn’t _ remember drawing them. He’d just been scribbling mindlessly during the lecture, he couldn’t have drawn these, he barely even glanced down at what he was doing. 

The back of his neck prickles. This time Jaebeom doesn’t dare lift his head, staring down at the eyes in horror. They stare back, far too lifelike.

“Here you go-” Jaebeom jolts, head snapping up to see Bambam stood over him with a tray- “oh, sorry, did I make you jump?” He asks, smiling sheepishly as he lowers it to the table, handing over a large white mug full of coffee with a couple of sugars stacked on the saucer and another plate with a generous slice of coffee and walnut cake.

“Oh, I didn’t-” Jaebeom stutters, pulse thumping at the back of his throat; he’s not sure whether he’s protesting about being scared or the cake he didn’t pay for, but Bambam just shoots him a silencing look and straightens back up.

“You look like you’re about to keel over, just eat it.” He says brusquely, turning on his heel before Jaebeom, one hand half raised to get him to wait, can speak again. He wilts, arm falling back to the table, hand onto the notebook. The eyes seem different when he glances down, narrower and curved, almost like they’re smiling. Jaebeom flinches, blinking hard and rubbing his eyes; the drawing returns to normal, or as normal as it can be. He stares at it for a long minute, forehead on the heels of his hands.

He really needs some sleep. Tonight, he promises himself, tonight, he’ll put in some earplugs, bury himself in as many blankets as he can find and actually get some sleep, faery stalkers be damned. But for now he just reaches for his mug, tearing open all three sugars Bambam provided and dumping it all into the coffee before taking a sip and sighing. He frowns at the cake, huffing when his stomach rumbles hopefully, then puts the mug down and tugs the other plate closer. He glances sidelong at the scrawled eyes, trepidation bubbling in his belly; he reaches for the notebook, carefully tearing the page out and crumpling it in his hands before stuffing it into the bottom of his rucksack and turning his attention away. 

He says to himself that he’ll do his work after the cake, but that’ll probably turn into after his coffee and then it’ll be nearly time for his next lecture. It is what it is and he’d probably muck his notes up with how tired he is, so he just puts on a podcast and settles into the booth to pick at the cake.

As expected, he gets no work done before it’s time for him to pack up and leave. He’s also no less tired, just jittery and strung out thanks to the caffeine. At least he only has one more hour and no shift today, so he’s nearly done. 

“Jaebeom?” He looks up at a call of his name; Bambam waves him over from the counter. Hoisting his bag onto his shoulder, Jaebeom trudges over to him. He’s holding  _ flowers _ , two or three stalks, each with one or two flowers tied together with twine in a rough bow. They’re pretty, each flower five flouncy red petals around a long stamen; Jaebeom recognises them but can’t think of the name. 

“Got an admirer?” He asks, lightly teasing. Bambam looks up with a small smirk.

“No, you do.” He says, offering the slim bouquet to him. Stunned, Jaebeom takes it automatically, handling it gingerly. Bambam slides a card across the counter to him. “Someone left it on the table next to yours, this was underneath.” Jaebeom takes the card. It just says his name in looping cursive but the card itself is thick and scented, bergamot and something thicker. Woodsmoke. “Hibiscus, right?” That’s the name. Jaebeom looks up with a nod and Bambam waggles his eyebrows. “Means rare and delicate beauty,” he says with a sly grin, snickering and leaning forwards, elbows on the counter, when Jaebeom’s eyes widen, “they clearly like you.” He grins wider at Jaebeom’s scattered laugh; face warm, Jaebeom looks down at the flowers with a badly concealed smile. Rare and delicate beauty. No one’s ever left flowers for him before.

“Who left them?” He asks, glowering at Bambam’s chuckle. It fades quickly into something thoughtful and he plops his chin into his hand.

“You know, I’m not sure. I could have sworn no one sat at that table while you were here,” he muses, oblivious to the icy hand that’s just slipped through Jaebeom’s rib cage to squeeze his heart, “maybe I just missed someone else putting them there. It’s pretty sweet though, right?” He perks up again, standing straight and brushing down his apron. “Sorry to keep you though, you’ve got a lecture now haven’t you?” He smiles sheepishly. The flowers swaying in the air from the trembling of his hands, Jaebeom forces a smile back. 

“Yeah. See you around.” He bites out before hurrying from the shop. He cuts away from the lecture theatre though, heading off campus and back towards home, hoping desperately that the feeling of being watched is just psychosomatic. The stems start to give way in his unconsciously tight grip and he quickly loosens it, cradling the flowers to his chest as he hurries around students streaming in the opposite direction - they were a  _ gift _ . No one refuses a gift from a faery. No one who does lives to tell about it. And there’s nothing else these can be, nowhere else they could have come from, not considering all of the  _ attention _ he's been getting; whenever he leaves the house, faeries watch him, follow him, whispering and giggling and prodding him if they dare get close. No, this is deliberate and most definitely the work of this  _ Prince _ . 

The streets are quiet as Jaebeom walks home. Eerily quiet, especially for the middle of the day. Jaebeom hunches his shoulders and keeps moving, as fast as he can without outright running. The temperature seems to have dropped, keeps dropping, unnaturally quickly. Jaebeom starts to slow, staring in horror as his breath clouds in front of him.

"Excuse me," comes a voice, lilting and soft, from behind him. Jaebeom stumbles, not wanting to stop but not daring to keep walking. That's not a human behind him. Jaebeom's whole body prickles with goosebumps, breath rushing out, misting before him as he freezes in place at a soft little chuckle.

Movement at the corner of his eye. A figure steps beside him, pausing for a moment. Jaebeom stays rooted, the flowers trembling again in his hand, face straight forwards and eyes locked on the end of the street. Another little laugh, then the figure steps into his eye line. 

It's so nearly a man. Barefoot and still the same height as Jaebeom, the faery stops before him, a wicked smile curled catlike on its mouth. It's handsome enough, more than enough, every curve of its face and neck and shoulders all the way to its toes graceful and tempting and otherworldly, gently curling brown hair stirring in a breeze only it can feel. It's beautiful, but there's something off, something unnatural and wrong about it if Jaebeom looks closer than the superficial; lips too pink and perfect to be real, bones beneath the skin seeming to shift, delicate one second and pronounced the next and the next still just subtly out of place for a human face, large ears tapering into points, teeth behind its smile too white and wicked sharp.

Its eyes, pupils slitted, impossibly deep and inhuman, change colour as Jaebeom stares, flickering from one to another, almost glowing, shifting through hues Jaebeom can't even name. It lifts a long-fingered hand, reaching the distance between them to touch a flower, knuckles brushing bright red petals. There's a bracelet about its wrist, knotted stems and off white flowers, clovers and daisies, half covered by the floaty sleeves of its ochre shirt, wide necked and silky over greenish trousers.

"Do you like them?" It asks, voice like silk with its kaleidoscope eyes fixed on Jaebeom's. Jaebeom can’t look away, muscles locked in tetanus, even his eyelids refusing to close. “Rare and delicate beauty,” it murmurs, hand drifting upwards, “I thought it fitting.” Its fingertips brush Jaebeom’s cheek, warm and tingling, like they’re discharging static. Jaebeom’s paralysis snaps and he stumbles backwards a step but the faery isn’t discouraged, smile just splitting wider. Its hand turns, palm up and forefinger outstretched; Jaebeom’s breath hisses through his teeth at a disembodied touch to his chin, lifting it higher and preventing him from turning away. “You’re even lovelier in person, Jaebeom.” It murmurs. Pure freezing panic shooting through him, Jaebeom jerks backwards, the pressure against his chin vanishing as he takes another couple of steps away. The faery tilts its head, unrestrained delight passing across its face. Shaking all over, Jaebeom stares it down, teeth chattering in the unseasonal chill; the faery didn’t even seem phased by the silver in his ears and lip or the iron on his hands, usually enough for them to give him a wide berth, and this powerful faery knows his name and where he spends his time and the direction he walks home.

In short, he’s fucked.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for you, Jaebeom.” The faery says with a disarming smile. Jaebeom swallows hard, clutching the flowers to his chest like a shield. 

“What?” He manages to croak. The faery’s eyes flash and it shifts, weight onto its right foot and the left sliding backwards as it dips into a low bow, right palm over where its heart should be and left arm outstretched behind it. 

“I am Jinyoung, Prince of Autumn and the Unseelie Courts,” it says, laughter in its voice as it straightens again slowly, “at your service, of course.” Jaebeom’s breath rushes out, sticking in his throat when he tries to inhale again. This is almost as bad as it could get, the Princess of Spring and Prince of Autumn are only outranked by the Summer King and Winter Queen. He desperately wishes it were possible for faeries to lie so that  _ this _ could be a lie, but it can’t be. The  _ Prince  _ seems amused by his struggling, taking a sauntering step forwards and snickering when Jaebeom scrambles back two more. 

“What do you want?” Jaebeom blurts. The faery quirks an eyebrow, smile fading into something twisted and disgusted and Jaebeom’s heart almost stops. “Your Highness.” He tacks on with a gasp, bracing himself for retribution; of all the crimes one could commit, faeries find rudeness to be one of the most heinous. But the Prince of Autumn just smiles again, wide enough to crinkle the corners of his eyes. 

“Call me Jinyoung, I insist-” oh, now it’s okay, Jaebeom thinks to himself a little hysterically, of course it is- “and I want a great many things, Jaebeom.” He takes another slow step forwards. Jaebeom forces himself to stand his ground despite wanting nothing more than to break and run and hide as  _ Jinyoung _ hums softly, eyes flickering down Jaebeom’s face as he crosses the last of the distance between them. He sways forwards, cold breath, cold enough not to mist in the now frigid air, ghosting across Jaebeom’s lips, long eyelashes fanned against his cheeks; Jaebeom daren’t move, not even to breathe or close his eyes - even this close, the faery is unaffected by the silver studs in Jaebeom’s lip, how is this even  _ possible _ ? His eyes lift again and, lips hovering barely inches away from Jaebeom’s, he smiles. “I think you might be able to help me with some of them.” He whispers; just for half a second, his eyes settle on one colour, a bright piercing amber, before he’s just- gone. Jaebeom doesn’t even blink, he’s just there one moment then gone the next.

Jaebeom’s legs give out and he falls hard to his knees. Dark spots clouding the edges of his vision, he slumps to the side, sitting down and bracing his right hand against the pavement, somehow retaining enough sense to keep the flowers cradled in his left. The chill starts to evaporate, burning away under the still-warm sun and noise returns, a few birds singing nearby and the sound of cars in the distance. 

Despite his body’s best efforts - hyperventilating, dizziness, nausea, the works - Jaebeom doesn’t pass out. He sits in the path, long enough for people - once again emerging from houses and walking the street - to give him anxious looks, one or two stopping to ask if he's alright. Other fae, small ones shaped like twisted animals and children and things Jaebeom can’t even begin to name, watch him from across the street, lingering at the edge of the tiny park, avoiding cars and houses and whispering to each other. Jaebeom doesn't look at them, though he despairs that it's now common knowledge that he can see through the veil.

Though, he supposes numbly, he may be off-limits to other fae if there's a Prince interested in him; maybe he's not dead yet. But that’s a big yet. 

Carefully, painfully, Jaebeom clambers to his feet. The flowers, thankfully, remain unharmed, but his knees and palm can’t say the same, scraped and embedded with gravel. Distractedly he pats himself down for phone and keys and bag before setting off towards his apartment, but to be honest he couldn’t say whether he actually had any of them.

The journey home is a blur, drowned by snickers and whispers and fae following him, brushing against his arms and tripping him up and tugging on his hair. Jaebeom tries so hard to ignore them and he’s ready to scream by the time he reaches the gate in front of his building but of course, just as a final insult, he’s shoved from behind, sending him sprawling over the metal railing. Winded, Jaebeom fumbles through it, whirling around and looking left to right, eyes skimming over the obvious and obviously fuming faery snarling at him from the path; this one is humanoid too, face twisted into an ugly sneer, teeth bared. It takes all of Jaebeom’s willpower not to flinch, instead looking around a couple more times before stumbling to the door and opening it with shaking hands.

“What could his Fell Highness see in a little human whore like you?” Comes a half-bestial shriek behind him; so not only does he have to deal with the attention of a fae Prince, he  _ also  _ has apparently scorned suitors hanging around too. Perfect. Jaebeom ignores it and slams the door behind him, staggering upstairs to shove his way into his own flat. 

He shucks his bag and runs for the kitchen, gently dropping the hibiscus stalks into a tall glass and half-filling it with water. He carries it to the windowsill, placing it in the centre, right in the view of the street below. Pride of place, a position of respect and gratitude. Maybe this will prolong his good favour with the Prince of Autumn. Jaebeom will take anything at this point. 

He crumples, collapsing to the floor and clamping both hands over his mouth to hold back a despairing sob. 

Jaebeom spends most of the next day and a half panicking, holed up in his house claiming to his workplace and university that he has food poisoning. In all actuality, most of his time is spent pacing up and down the hallway, long enough to move and turn but far from any windows; right now, two days after meeting the Prince, there’s a pair of veil-hidden faeries below in the street, sat across the road on a low wall and staring right up at his window. They both look vaguely human, at least at this distance and in the fleeting glances Jaebeom took at them before fleeing the window, one with a shock of electric blue hair dressed in sweeping robes of white and sapphire and the other smaller, white-blond and wearing all black. 

Jaebeom considers his options. He’s been followed around by fae before, most everyone has at some point, but never by one so powerful, so persistent and so clearly  _ interested  _ in him. He could run, flee the city, maybe even the country and try to hide, but with a Court Prince there’s no guarantee that would work. He could hide here, try to leave the house as little as possible but that’s no real solution. 

Or he could see what Prince Jinyoung wants from him. Fae curiosity burns bright but it burns out quickly; maybe he can outlast it, eventually drift from his interest and slip away. If it’s just some sort of infatuation, he could play along, at least for a while. It might be his only realistic option and the Prince hasn’t seemed interested in killing him, not yet, even though he seems aware of Jaebeom’s ability to see through the veil between worlds. 

A sudden noise, loud and hollow; Jaebeom flinches, whirling around to face the kitchen window. A few seconds pass, then something hits the glass again, small and dark. A stone maybe. Heart in his throat, Jaebeom creeps over to the window, peeking out of it cautiously. The two faeries are still there, the blue haired one now stood on the wall, one arm wound back. Its arm arcs forwards and Jaebeom instinctively ducks as another stone bounces off the glass. 

Jaebeom sits on the kitchen floor, covering both ears with his hands. Neither of the faeries were glamoured to be seen by humans, he daren’t react to the sight of them even though they probably know full well he can see them, especially given his flinch. His stomach churns, bile rising in his throat as more stones clatter against the window, until they finally pause and he lets out a breath, lowering his shaking hands to his chest, pressing a flat palm over his pounding heart.

He jolts violently at three short raps, shoving away from the counter and scrambling back on his hands; his wide eyes meet the blond faery’s, pale glittering blue and irritably narrowed. It’s hovering at his window, gossamer wings fluttering behind it almost too fast to see. 

“You’re being rather rude, Jaebeom.” It says, loud enough to pierce the glass. Jaebeom blinks quickly, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth. “We have a gift for you and you’re ignoring us, we know you can see us. Let us in or come down at once.” And with that, the faery vanishes, dipping below Jaebeom’s sight. 

Fuck. This is could not get much worse. Shaking, Jaebeom wobbles to his feet, peering out of the window again and wincing when he meets the blue-haired faery’s eyes; it raises both eyebrows pointedly and jerks its head, gesturing for him to come down. Not seeing much other choice, Jaebeom stumbles back from the window, grabs his keys from the table by the door and lets himself out. 

His teeth are chattering as he steps out the front door of his building. The temperature has dropped again, this time naturally, and the sky is cloudier, duller in the evening light. The two fae wait outside the fence bordering his building. A colder aura surrounds them, Jaebeom’s breath starting to mist as he cautiously approaches, frost forming on the gate and glittering on the leaves of the bushes lining the fence. Up close, they’re more obviously inhuman; the blond’s six dragonfly-like wings almost transparent where they drape down from its shoulders and its face sharp and angular, cheeks too hollow, skin pulled too tight over its bones. The other seems blurred, unfocused, but Jaebeom can see that its teeth are almost too big for its mouth and its irises are pure white ringed with a thin black line, pupils thin slits. Its smile pulls wider as he approaches and it raises a hand, each finger tipped with wicked claws and the back of its hand scaled, glistening like an oil slick with spurs of algae-stained bone lining the back of its arm. In its grip is a bouquet, frost-gilded white calla lilies and bright orange roses dotted with long-stalked white clovers and leafy branches, all wrapped in rough paper and tied off with twine. 

“His Fell Highness sends his regards.” The faery says; its voice is musical and sweet, filling Jaebeom’s head with a dull buzz. His body relaxes a little without his conscious consent, even the fearful realisation that this must be a siren distant and vague, and he reaches for the gate, pulling it open and stepping outside the boundaries of the building. “You may call me Youngjae.” 

“And me, Mark,” the other faery -  _ Mark  _ \- murmurs, head tilting towards Jaebeom, “but we come too with a request; the Prince of Autumn would like your permission to call on you. Tomorrow, at midnight.” Jaebeom’s heart drops to the pavement; this, he suspects, is not actually a request. Swallowing thickly, he takes the proffered flowers, gingerly turning it in his hands. It smells divine even at an arm’s length and without thinking, he brings it to his face, breathing deeply; they smell somehow different, not quite like any roses or lilies Jaebeom has ever encountered before, even sweeter and more delicate.

“Wh- why?” He squeaks. Both faeries cock their heads in the same fluid motion, staring at him like he’s said something truly stupid. 

“Is it not obvious?” Youngjae says, glancing pointedly down at the bouquet. It isn’t, but Jaebeom wilts and inclines his head like he understands.

“O-oh. Well. Um-” he gulps, looking between them and the flowers- “I’d- be honoured. Please- thank his Highness for-” he stutters to a stop when both faeries’ face twist, Youngjae sneering and Mark drawing himself up and shaking his head. 

“Humans-” Mark scoffs, Youngjae rolling his eyes derisively when Jaebeom shrinks away from them, ready to turn and run if they decide to lash out- “words are important,” he spits, “and you humans sap the meaning from them with insincerity and overuse. Do not  _ thank  _ his Highness for something so  _ trivial _ .” Jaebeom lets out a shaky breath and bows his head in apology.

“Then please tell him that I- I appreciate the gesture. It was very kind of him and I look forward to- to seeing him again tomorrow.” He says slowly, hoping to all hell that they don’t find anything else wrong with his words but this time they smile and each dip into a sweeping bow. 

“Until we meet again then.” Youngjae says with an unreadable grin and Mark laughs, eyes flashing a sickly yellow; Jaebeom’s head swims and he staggers back into the gate. He clutches at his temple, squinting around when the world stops spinning. Both faeries have vanished, leaving behind only trails of frost, quickly melting into water, barely enough to stain the pavement. 

“Morning!” Bambam chirps, drying a mug with a spotted tea towel. Jaebeom smiles weakly at him, once again running on barely a couple of hours of sleep, fitful thanks to full technicolour dreams of twisted creatures and colour-changing eyes. “I’ll make it an extra large.” He says sympathetically before Jaebeom can even say anything, tapping at the cash register. 

“To go, please.” Jaebeom mumbles - he needs to get through two lectures and a shift this afternoon, all without even considering this  _ thing  _ at midnight - as he passes over some change. He might need something stronger to get through that. Bambam hums, grabbing a large polystyrene cup and bustling over to the coffee machine. A thought pierces Jaebeom’s sluggish brain when his eyes alight on the vase of pinks and violets.

“Bambam you- know what flowers mean, right?” He blurts. Bambam hums, craning his neck over his shoulder. “If- someone gave me a bouquet with calla lilies, orange roses and white clover in it, what would they be trying to say?” He asks hesitantly; Bambam’s eyebrows climb towards his white hair and he whistles.

“Well,” he says, a grin lilting his voice, “calla lilies mean magnificent beauty, orange roses mean desire and fascination and white clover literally means “think of me” so I’d say someone  _ really  _ likes you.” 

“Oh.” Jaebeom squeaks. Most of him starts panicking - this is so very bad, the Prince of Autumn is  _ infatuated  _ with him, for lack of a better word - but a little corner of his mind is a little flattered, a little pleased, bringing blood to his face in a blush, deep enough that Bambam quirks an eyebrow at him when he turns back to the counter. His grin is knowing and suggestive, but he doesn’t say anything as he caps Jaebeom’s coffee and slides it across the counter. “Thanks.” 

“Have a good day!” Bambam calls after him, still grinning. Jaebeom waves a hand back over his shoulder and hurries to his first lecture, trying to push the traitorous thoughts - it is quite sweet that Jinyoung’s sending him flowers, mildly terrifying vectors aside and he’s so far not been hostile towards him - out of his head. He can’t afford to give him the benefit of the doubt because if he’s wrong, he’s dead. No, he’ll play along until he can slip away, Jaebeom isn’t dying to this or any other faery. Freshly buoyed, he holds his head higher, ignoring the unseen eyes following him as he crosses the campus. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! we've met Jinyoung now.... what do y'all think of him and the rest?!! let me know down below in a comment or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles)!! also!! this chapter saw the start of some sweet flower imagery; if y'all are curious (and u should be, certainly in later chapters :^))) about what different flowers mean, i got most of my meanings from [here](https://archive.org/stream/languageofflower00gree#page/n9/mode/2up), a scan of a book called "language of flowers" about the Victorian flower language!! and if they aren't there I just googled them lol so yeah!! check that out!!


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> things get.... Fun... in this chapter :^) so for that reason u have two song recs: the first is [matstubs - kings and queens of summer](https://youtu.be/mqw9GSjyaUM), it's good and a bop and fairly relevant hehe :3 and the second, for reasons that will become clear towards the end of the chapter is [camille saint-saens - danse macabre](https://youtu.be/YyknBTm_YyM) which is my favourite piece of classical music!! its actually about Death playing the fiddle to make skeletons dance for him on halloween but that isn't strictly relevant here skjsljfd but u will see Why it is relevant as u read hehehe  
enjoy!!

His defiance lasts until about halfway through his shift that afternoon. He’s too tired to stay optimistic, nagging doubts and lingering fears snapping at his heels every time he glances past yet another faery watching him through the window or glamoured to come order something from him. They  _ know  _ he can see them too, a couple coming into the shop invisible to chatter at him and tug on his apron or pinch his arms and laugh when he doesn’t react; he still  _ can’t  _ react, now more for fear of being thought insane by his coworkers. Not that they can’t tell something is wrong; he keeps getting concerned looks every time he’s tripped or fumbles something until his manager finally comes over and tells him to go home.

“You look like you’re about to collapse and I don’t want to write up the accident report.” Is all she says when he weakly protests. He gives in reluctantly, not really wanting to go home and just sit around waiting for the Prince of Autumn to show up, but he doesn’t seem to have much of a choice. He’s also exhausted, maybe enough to pass out for a few hours before midnight. 

A faery spits at him when he exits the coffee shop. With all of the nonsense he’s endured today, he doesn’t even pause, just takes half a step to the side to avoid it and keeps walking. The same faery, tall and ethereal and flanked by three or four more, all wearing deep browns and greens, follows him, stalking his footsteps and hissing at him, but it doesn’t come too close, glaring at the silver in his ears and lip. 

“Why has our lovely Prince looked at something like  _ you _ ?” It snarls, the others echoing it and spitting insults. Jaebeom, weary and defeated, tries to ignore them and wishes, not for the first time today, that he hadn’t left his headphones on his bedside table. 

A particularly bold fae darts in front of him and stops, stretching out its willowy arms and shoving him hard when he tries to move past it; he stumbles into a wall, scraping the length of his arm against rough brick. Clutching at it, Jaebeom looks around, desperately hoping to see another human but the street is deserted; all of the fae laugh, whistling and shrieking and crowding around him.

“Look, I don’t know what you want-” Jaebeom tries to speak but he just gets shoved into the wall again by the faery that spat at him, initially pretty human features twisting into something bestial and ugly. It gets into his face, thin lips peeling back in a sneer, too far, gums black and teeth yellowing even as Jaebeom watches.

“We want rid of you, stealing his Fell Highness from us who  _ love _ him-” It hisses, words distorted and pitching lower and lower. Its hand moves, darting up to grab Jaebeom’s throat but he manages to intercept before he consciously registers what’s happening, gripping its wrist and throwing it away from himself. It screams, ripping itself away and clutching at its arm; the smell of burnt wood fills the air, emanating from the livid burns on the faery’s wrist, perfectly matching the pattern of Jaebeom’s iron rings.

“Just leave me alone!” Jaebeom shouts, taking off running in the confusion and only slowing when he approaches his street. The group don’t follow him and other fae he spots on his way dart out of sight, hiding behind trees and bushes to watch him pass. Good, now he just needs to convince the Prince to leave him be too. 

That may be easier said than done, however; there’s another pair of faeries waiting outside his building. The taller lanky one is carrying another bunch of flowers, pink sweet peas and some sprigs of white clustered flowers Jaebeom can’t name. The other- Jaebeom freezes in place, stopping dead in the middle of the road. He _recognises _the other faery, it’s the same one that came to his workplace just before he saw the Prince the first time. This faery waves, bouncing in place as the other one seems to try and shrink down behind it despite being much larger, peeking out behind a curtain of glossy hair. His buoyancy from scaring off the angry group fades and Jaebeom considers just turning on his heel and fleeing, but it’s too late. He’s been spotted and he’d just get followed. 

“Hello again.” The faery chirps, dipping down into an overexaggerated bow, gauzy green cloak, so thin it looks spun from cobwebs, fluttering behind it. No, not a cloak; huge draped wings, like the other faery’s, Mark’s but shaped more like a butterfly’s. “You can call me Jackson and him, Yugyeom. We have a gift for you from his Fell Highness, the Prince of Autumn and the Unseelie Courts.” He ducks to the side, sweeping an arm back at his companion Yugyeom, who shrinks a little and holds out the bouquet. “He is most looking forward to your rendezvous this evening.” Jackson adds, voice taking a cheekier tone. Jaebeom edges closer, taking the flowers; Yugyeom seems as eager to be rid of them as Jaebeom is reluctant, quickly snatching his hand back and retreating, lowering his head in a polite nod. He’s the least unsettling faery of any that have approached him, appearing mostly human with hair a sandy blond and a greenish flush on his high cheekbones. There’s a web of leaves inked onto his skin, covering his bare arms and winding up the left of his throat, a single leaf curved over his jaw. They flutter in the light breeze as Jaebeom watches, shifting across his skin. Jaebeom swallows, glancing between the pair and the flowers in his hands.

“Please tell his Highness that I-” the words stick, very much a lie and not wanting to escape his throat- “I too look forward to meeting him again. And that I am grateful for all of the flowers. They’re- very sweet. And thoughtful.” He manages to croak; Jackson looks impressed, eyes flashing pink before he sweeps into another bow.

“I will do so with all haste, my good sir,” he enthuses, mirth glowing in his grin, “I know his Highness will be delighted that his efforts have pleased his new consort.” Consort?! Jaebeom gapes at him but he’s ignored, Jackson just turning on his heel in a flurry of wings and marching away with Yugyeom in close tow.

In a daze, Jaebeom lets himself into his flat and digs out a jug for these flowers. He sets them down in his small sitting room, both windowsills in the kitchen bearing the others. He goes through the motions without thinking, putting his things away and getting a change of clothes.

Jackson couldn’t have meant consort. He just couldn’t, there’s no way. Why would a faery Prince want a human consort? No, the Prince just wants- well, Jaebeom doesn’t know what he wants, but it can’t be  _ that _ . He’s just doing what faeries do, playing with him until he gets bored and drops him for something else shinier. Jaebeom runs both hands down his face and groans into them; it’s nothing that serious, just a passing curiosity, just because they’ve figured out he’s a seer. Jaebeom switches the shower on and strips his clothes off, stepping inside and hissing at the cold water. He can outlast this, he just needs to play along until the Prince gets bored. Though how long that might take, he’s not entirely sure.

Jaebeom, not wanting to take any chances, prepares for this rendezvous like he would a date. For all his mental protests, he fears that’s what it is anyway and if it isn’t, he’s just a little overdressed and not risking the ire of a powerful supernatural creature. He ruffles his hair up, picks out a black button-up and black jeans and, reluctantly, swaps out his silver earrings and iron rings for similar titanium versions. The silver studs in his lips he leaves in place, just in case. Also, foolishly, he’d searched up what the pink sweet peas and, as he discovered it was called, white dittany mean in terms of flower languages and found they mean delicate pleasures and passion respectively, so his hopes of this not being regarded as the faery equivalent of a date by the Prince have been dashed to almost nothing. 

Ten minutes to midnight. Jaebeom stares at himself in the mirror - drawn, exhausted, looking like he’d rather be doing anything else right now, but at least semi-put-together. He smiles and it looks as plastic as it feels, but maybe it’ll be enough to fool the Prince of Autumn into thinking he’s not terrified out of his mind. 

A tap, familiar after this morning; a stone off glass. Jaebeom’s eyes widen and he stares mutely at his own reflection for a few seconds. Long enough for a second stone; this jolts him into moving and he switches off the bathroom light. 

There’s frost on the kitchen window, spreading in thin fractal patterns out from two distinct spots. Heart in his throat, Jaebeom slowly crosses the room and peers out.

The Prince of Autumn and the Unseelie Courts smiles and waves up at him. He’s stood in the orange of a streetlight, his deep red-brown tailcoat lined with gleaming gold. Another faery, the siren,  _ Youngjae _ , leans in to whisper something into his ear before darting away down the street and out of sight. Jaebeom sways, bracing his hands against the countertop, as the Prince beckons him down, pleased smile curling wider.

Jaebeom doesn’t remember leaving or locking up, just finds himself at the foot of the stairs with his keys in his pocket jabbing into his thigh, staring out through the misted window. The Prince leans against the street light, head cocked and staring at him. Swallowing hard, Jaebeom reaches for the lock, twisting it open and pushing the door aside. It’s cold, November weather outside instead of mild September night. Jaebeom realises he’s wearing a jacket, his comfy black leather jacket, but he’s left his phone upstairs. He really should go and get it before he leaves. 

“Good night, Jaebeom.” The Prince says; Jaebeom blinks and he’s waiting at the gate, blossom pink lips pressed into a small indulgent smile. Well, a slightly unhinged little voice laughs at the back of Jaebeom’s mind, if he must be courted by a faery, at least it’s a pretty one.

The door shuts with a click behind him. Jaebeom breathes out, watching the cloud billow before him, then breathes in, the cold air clearing a touch of the panic swelling in his head. He can get through this, he can outlast one faery’s curiosity or ardour or whatever this is. The Prince of Autumn waits, in no apparent rush, glittering eyes creased by his smile. 

“Are you scared?” He asks. Jaebeom huffs a barely there laugh and takes a slow step forwards.

“Should I be?” He croaks, his evasion glaringly obvious and the truth even more so. The Prince’s smile pulls wider, teeth glistening in the low light, but he doesn’t answer. That may be enough of one, in fact; he cannot say no, because that would be a lie. 

“Shall we be off? I have much to show you.” He says, stepping back from the gate and holding out a white-gloved hand. Jaebeom eyes it warily, crossing the last of the distance and grasping the gate. The iron is cold, painfully so, but reassuring. A solid barrier that no faery, no matter who or what, can touch. 

Jaebeom pulls the gate open, slow and creaking. The Prince doesn’t move, hand perfectly still in the air, just his smiling shifting eyes following Jaebeom’s movements. Teeth chattering in the chill, Jaebeom closes the gate, then takes his hand. 

The cold vanishes. Or rather, Jaebeom ceases to feel it; his breath keeps misting in the air and there’s still frost gathered on the paving stones beneath the Prince’s feet but he’s now comfortably warm. The hand in his is warm too, even through the glove. The Prince beams, fingers curling around Jaebeom’s and lifting his hand to bow his head and press a reverent kiss to his knuckles.

“I am so glad you’ll be joining me tonight.” He whispers, cool breath washing over his hand and his mischievous eyes still locked with Jaebeom’s. His lips are soft, brushing Jaebeom’s skin with each word, before he lifts his head again. Jaebeom’s mouth opens but all that comes out is a flustered little sigh before the Prince -  _ Jinyoung _ \- turns and pulls on his hand. 

He leads him across the road, over to the tiny park. It’s eerily dark within, the trees rustling and creaking in the light wind, but Jinyoung doesn’t lead him inside; he stops below the largest tree and raps three times on the trunk. A few seconds pause, then something knocks back. Jaebeom recoils, eyes wide, but the Prince just glances back with a knowing smile. 

There’s a rushing noise and Jaebeom’s ears pop and his sinuses flare with sudden pain; he flinches, squeezing his eyes shut and grasping at his face, but when he squints up again, the park has vanished. Or a small portion of it has; stretched between the largest tree and its nearest neighbour is what Jaebeom initially mistakes for a perfectly lifelike painting of a meadow, filled with flowers of all colours. But there’s more than just a picture, laughter and chatter and singing filters through, some of the voices human but others far from it. Jaebeom can smell the wildflowers, all manner of wonderful scents somehow mingling but not becoming overbearing or too sweet. It’s beautiful.

When Jinyoung steps forwards, Jaebeom doesn’t resist the tug on his hand, following him through the tear and onto tender green grass. It’s warm here, would be even without Jinyoung’s hand, but there’s no sun; the entire sky is blue and the meadow is lit like it’s high noon, but there’s no sun above them. The meadow is surrounded by light woodland, trees rustling in the breeze. The entire clearing is full of flowers, tall swaying stalks of deep purple aconite and lupins and huge rhododendron bushes clustered with pink blooms, low clinging anemones in shades of red and violet and begonias in pinks and reds, clustered tubes of pink and white foxgloves and tall red amaryllises and fiery yellow snapdragons lining the track winding deeper into the forest. 

“Come.” Jinyoung murmurs, walking backwards down the path to watch Jaebeom follow. He grins, huge and full of teeth, when Jaebeom flushes under his stare; he looks away, biting at the back of one lip piercing and trying to keep his gaze down on the flowers even as Jinyoung keeps watching. His head aches, working overtime to figure out the thick layer of magic over everything here, his body somehow feeling sluggish and heavy yet free and light at the same time.

The voices get louder as they walk. It’s dimmer beneath the trees, all light filtering from above despite the lack of a sun, but Jaebeom can see what they’re approaching; crowds of faeries, whirling and dancing in another larger clearing, more of a field. Light music starts to filter through the air, notes constantly shifting and changing, one moment a cheerful pop song, the next a classical dirge, the next something sensual and slow prickling down the back of Jaebeom’s neck to tingle in his pit of his stomach, yet all of it somehow harmonious. 

Jinyoung grins back at him, wild and unrestrained. Jaebeom finds himself smiling back as they break the treeline, smaller and shakier but genuine nonetheless. The place is alien and exquisite and irresistibly charming, the gleeful atmosphere thick with floral scents, infectious and heady; Jaebeom’s head spins, each breath coming deeper and harder than it should, but for now at least, fear is eclipsed by curiosity and growing excitement. He wishes he could blame it on some form of suggestion, some magic, but there’s nothing he can feel, just the faeries’ merrymaking and laughter and Jinyoung’s warm hand in his own, not even needing to pull to get him to follow.

The crowds melt around them, leaving a bubble of space for them to move through; Jaebeom’s eyes dart left and right, wide and enraptured. He tries not to stare at any one faery for too long but it’s difficult, like each of them is physically dragging his gaze back towards them. He’s never seen so many in one place before, each of them more beautiful and disturbing than the last: one has the body of a naked human man with the head of a stag crudely grafted onto its shoulders, listing to one side with just a mess of stitching preventing its fall, but its nostrils flare on a snort, beady black eyes blinking at Jaebeom as he passes. Another, a twisted humanoid form, is missing chunks of flesh on its arms, rib cage, thighs, ribbons and locks of hair knotted around exposed bones, a garland of flowers perched on its scarred head and a lopsided grin twisting torn lips. Another still, shaped like an extraordinarily beautiful human woman except for its eyes, sockets filled with crystal glass orbs within which tiny fish swim, but it doesn’t seem to have any problem seeing him to smile at him sweetly. 

All manner of humanoid and animal and unnameable creatures pause their dance to watch Jaebeom and the Prince pass. There’s a few beats of silence, then one whisper, two, three until the entire clearing fills with overlapping susurrations. Most are in a language no human could replicate, all beats and chimes and liquid syllables, but Jaebeom recognises a few words, unmistakable:

_ It's him.  _

Jinyoung stops in the centre of the clearing and turns to face Jaebeom.

_ Finally.  _

He smiles, curling and sweet, his hand lifting Jaebeom’s between them.

_ A consort. _

His head tilts and he dips into a shallow bow; Jaebeom’s chest feels tight, the very air thickening in his lungs.

_ To his Fell Highness. _

Nerves clogs Jaebeom’s throat, hands trembling, breath speeding up under the stares of hundreds, all expectant and eager but he doesn’t know what they want from him.

_ Finally.  _

There are new colours in Jinyoung’s eyes when he straightens up and Jaebeom feels dizzy watching them flicker. His smile pulls wider and he takes half a step forwards.

“Would you dance with me, Jaebeom?” He whispers, quiet but cutting through the noise. 

_ At last.  _

The music shifts, settling onto a lilting, haunting waltz and staying there. Jaebeom opens his mouth, dry and sticky. His ears pop again and the music gets louder, sharper, crisper. Jinyoung’s face, his delighted smile, focuses and Jaebeom’s dizziness abates, that apprehension loosening and trickling back down into something quiet. Jaebeom feels  _ good _ , better than he has in- maybe ever. Like this is  _ right _ , like this is where he’s supposed to be, and it’s a feeling that swells from  _ himself _ , from somewhere deep and untouched and personal.

_ May this be the moment? _

“Yes,” Jaebeom breathes, “I’ll dance with you.” Jinyoung’s teeth flash and Jaebeom’s pulled forwards, chest to chest with an ancient power. His breath leaves him and Jinyoung’s head tilts just a little, lids lowering over shifting colours.

_ A time long awaited. _

Jinyoung’s other hand settles onto the curve of Jaebeom’s waist, fitting perfectly to him. Jaebeom’s finds Jinyoung’s shoulder as Jinyoung steps into him, stepping backwards in turn. 

The whispers swell louder, into full voices singing, rhythmic and sweet:

_ A human heart _

Jaebeom doesn’t know how to dance, not like this, yet he finds himself moving without conscious thought, step perfect and fluid enough to rival his inhumanly graceful partner. Jinyoung never stops smiling, wondrous and elated, as they twirl in broad flourishing circles, his unearthly beauty stealing Jaebeom’s breath away. The music slowly lifts, more chiming voices joining with the instruments and the circle around them breaks, the crowds spilling forth and dancing alongside them. 

_ To me must bring _

Jinyoung leads them into the centre of the crowd and Jaebeom follows. His fear is almost gone, melted into exhilaration. He knows why he was scared, but now, while he’s caught up in the festivities, it seems overcautious; these faeries, here and now, haven’t hurt him yet,  _ Jinyoung _ hasn't hurt him yet and the way so many of these fae look at him now he thinks about it, the way Jinyoung looks at him, is interested and excited, not the normal disdain or mockery they direct towards humans. Dimly, he wonders whether his new ease is some magic, but he’s always  _ known  _ when he was under magical effects before and right now he doesn’t seem to be.

And besides, this is  _ fun _ . Jaebeom’s smiling, he can’t stop himself, twirling out from Jinyoung’s arm with a flourish and a laugh. Jinyoung’s staring at him like he’s something dazzling when he pulls him back in, a bright hungry light in his glittering eyes; Jaebeom feels drunk just on his regard, that a creature of such otherworldly beauty and power among other such creatures is looking at  _ him  _ like this, like he’s the only thing  _ worth _ looking at. 

_ And freed I’ll be _

The music builds. Jinyoung’s turns sharpen as he guides them faster, the tails of his jacket flaring out wide. Jaebeom’s breath quickens, heart thumping at the back of his head, but he doesn’t falter, not even a little tired. Jinyoung’s grin turns wilder and he laughs, loud and unabashed and purely delighted.

_ Thy song I’ll sing _

Jinyoung’s hands open and they spin apart. Jaebeom gasps and his heart squeezes, climbing into his throat, but the crowd catches him and he doesn’t stop moving, feet instinctively knowing where to step and his hands finding others. His partners change almost faster than he can blink, from a spindly woman with corpse-blue lips to a hulking half-bestial creature to a man with flowers in his hair and behind his eyes. To figures he recognises, a siren with bright hair and an enchanting voice crooning into his ear, a dragonfly-winged man with eyes as blue as the sky above leaving Jaebeom’s hands numb and frostbitten, a tall shy faery who leaves a pale pink dog rose behind his left ear and offers him a sweet little smile before the crowd whisks him away. They’re all gentle, reverent, admiring and Jaebeom’s torn between flustered shyness and giddy preening.

_ Its love returned _

Jaebeom finds himself back in the centre of the clearing. Head spinning just from the atmosphere, he turns. Jinyoung faces him across the space cleared between them, the whispering picked up anew. Jaebeom finds he’s grinning, laughing, beaming ear to ear, has been the whole time; Jinyoung’s head tilts, whiskers appearing at the corners of his eyes with the force of his smile. He crosses the space, meeting Jaebeom halfway.

_ To me, to me _

Jinyoung takes his hand. His gloves are gone, his bare skin warm and soft even as his grip tightens. The music builds towards a crescendo and Jaebeom falls easily back into step with him. It’s more natural than with any of the others, more natural even than his quickened breathing.

_ And thy power great _

Jinyoung’s breathing is fast too now, bright eyes boring through Jaebeom’s like he wants to see through them. They spin faster, a flurry of coattails as the music builds, swells, breaks; Jinyoung’s hand on Jaebeom’s waist slides across to hold him as he dips him backwards over his arm. Jaebeom’s hand squeezes Jinyoung’s hard and he gasps, staring out upside down at the faeries dancing and rejoicing and singing in wild chorus, his other hand clawed on Jinyoung’s shoulder.

_ Return to thee. _

He’s pulled back upright. Jinyoung’s arm stays tight around his waist, crushing them together. His free arm slung around Jinyoung’s neck and their faces so close their noses brush, Jaebeom pants his breath back, breathing in Jinyoung’s air. His eyes are shimmering, smile wild and wide.

“Next time,” he whispers, lips barely a hair's breadth from Jaebeom’s; Jaebeom swallows hard, heart threatening to beat from his chest and aching for Jinyoung to just lean that tiny bit forwards, “change these.” His hand releases Jaebeom’s, settling at the curve of his cheek to brush the pad of his thumb across one of the silver studs in his lip; he doesn’t flinch, but there’s a livid red mark staining it when he pulls away to show him. Struck mute and cursing himself for wearing the silver, Jaebeom nods and Jinyoung smiles, thumb pressing to the opposite side of his chin to turn his head just a little. “Until next time then.” He breathes, warm lips pressing the softest of kisses to his cheek.

Jaebeom startles, bolting upright and clutching at his chest. His heart races and his mind races faster, bitter disappointment and abrupt fear and sudden stark confusion bursting into focus all at once. He’s not in a meadow clearing, he’s in his bedroom, sat on his bed, the covers mussed and slept in. It’s morning, there are sparrows twittering in the tree beyond his window and he’s alone in his apartment.

What happened? It couldn’t- he couldn’t have dreamed that. No, he’s in the clothes he picked out for his rendezvous with the Prince of Autumn, with Jinyoung, only missing his shoes. He stares down at himself, searching for an answer but there’s none forthcoming. He curls in his legs, hunching over and dropping his aching head into his hands.

Something flutters into his lap, pale pink and delicate. Hands shaking, Jaebeom picks it up, turning it over; a single dog rose, fallen from behind his left ear. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so..... hehehehehehe things are Picking Up!! let me know what you thought!! either down below or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles)!! I just got back from my holiday today and I've got three more chapters written after this one so it's going pretty well!! <3 for now updates will be regular ~weekly but if that changes y'all will be the first to know <3


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friends I hope u enjoy this chapter!! this is where the song recs become even more relevant so please check out [highland & greisun - throw me a line](https://youtu.be/OnnbO69XLNY) for this one!! It's super good and great atmosphere!!

The next morning passes without major incident. Jaebeom uses the brief peace to try and sort through what happened; he’s distracted through his entire shift, bumping into coworkers and forgetting orders, but he manages to figure some of his feelings out, if nothing else.

He’s no longer scared. Not in the same way at least; his lingering and long-ingrained fear of the fair folk isn’t something that’s going away overnight nor, necessarily, should it, but he’s no longer scared of Jinyoung, specifically. He’s still strange and unsettling and won’t give straight answers but he’s been nothing but gentle with him, gentle and genuinely interested, for whatever reason he may have. None of the other faeries from the dance were aggressive either, it’s just these... unhappy suitors that have been harassing him. He got shoved again on his way into work, but they backed off when he made a point of flashing his iron rings; Jinyoung can ask until he’s blue in the face, but he’s not going to give them up all the time and certainly not until he’s sure he’s not going to get pushed into traffic.

Of course, the whole reason behind his getting harassed needs addressing as well. It’s certainly clear now that, despite Jaebeom’s initial disbelief, Jinyoung  _ is  _ interested in him in an… amorous sense. Jaebeom’s halfway reconciled himself with this; it’s flattering for sure and he’s not made of stone, he’s aware that - both despite and due to his fae nature - Jinyoung is wildly attractive. He’s pretty and charming and dangerously compelling, Jaebeom’s thoughts drifting to him even when he tries to concentrate on other things and he’s not  _ stupid _ , he knows that he needs to keep his wits about him and he doesn’t  _ trust  _ Jinyoung but. But. The attention is on him now, all of his rules have gone out the window and there’s not many ways it could get  _ worse _ , so is there really any harm in just seeing what happens?

The answer is yes, there probably is. And Jaebeom tells himself that he’s going to try and put a stop to this, that he’s going to tell Jinyoung that he’s not interested, that he should leave him alone and find another human to court if he’s so inclined. He’s going to put his foot down and his life is going to go back to the way it was, even if he has to move away or something. 

But, as he’s finishing his shift and getting ready to leave, he gets tapped on the shoulder by a coworker. He doesn’t remember her name and she’s out of uniform already so has no name tag, but she’s holding out a bunch of coral pink roses towards him with a slightly bemused expression.

“This was left for you at the counter. Some guy.” She says, pushing the bouquet into his hands with a shrug. Jaebeom’s mouth opens to ask, but the words die on his tongue as he finds a card on the other side of the twine tying the bottom and turns it over to read it:  _ I hope to see you again soon, Jaebeom.  _

He’s going to tell Jinyoung to leave him alone. He thinks this to himself, over and over, as he brings the roses to his nose and breathes deep, a tiny smile coming to his face at the lovely sweet scent. He really will put an end to this, he insists to his own mind, even as his heart flutters a little quicker, something warm and excited tugging at his chest. 

Clutching the roses to his chest, Jaebeom takes his time walking home. He walks his usual route, head high and an unconscious smile still on his face. He’s followed, of course, by a curious pair of cat-like creatures which leave scorched black footprints behind them and another tall willowy faery in a deep green tunic. It’s wearing a circlet of twisted branches, blooming with reddening leaves and delicate pink blossoms and there’s an ugly sneer on its face.

“Little human harlot, after our lovely Prince,” it spits, circling him, “what game are you playing with his Fell Highness?” Jaebeom bristles but doesn’t respond, ignoring it completely. This seems to enrage it as it barges in front of him, both palms planted on his chest to shove him backwards. He stumbles but draws himself up again, baring his teeth and squaring up against the faery as abrupt and white hot fury pulses through him.

“I’m not playing anything, just leave me alone!” He snaps, fists clenched tight. It snarls, face twisting into something ghastly and horrifying; it stalks forwards, raising a wicked clawed hand. Jaebeom braces, ready to spring backwards and run as soon as it lunges-

“Enough.” Rings an achingly familiar voice before he can move. The faery freezes in place, eyes popping wide and its face settling back into something horrified and almost human. Jinyoung steps up beside them, his expression a mask of dark and turbulent anger. The faery lets out a pitiful whimper and falls to its knees, prostrating itself on the pavement before him.

“My lord, your Highness, I beg your forgiveness-” it babbles, sobbing crystal tears down pale cheeks. Jinyoung’s lip curls, his features twisting into something gaunt and bestial, suddenly and starkly inhuman.

“Lift your head.” He says, quiet but brokering no argument. Jaebeom, stricken, watches as the faery does as it’s told, lifting its head to peer up at Jinyoung through long glistening lashes.

Jinyoung raises an arm and backhands the faery across the face. There’s a crunch and a yelp and it sprawls onto the pavement, bluish-grey blood welling from a split on its cheek, cut by the jagged diamond set into the gold ring on Jinyoung’s middle finger. It stays there, clutching at its cheek and sobbing pitifully.

"If you or anyone else raises a finger against my consort again, I will strip the perpetrators of their Court." Jinyoung hisses, his features settling back into their normal if unearthly shape. The faery curls in on itself, cradling its face. "Get out of my sight." He snaps with a dismissive flick of his fingers. The faery scrambles away, still weeping, and Jinyoung turns to Jaebeom. Despite his outburst he's now mostly unruffled, freezing aura melting into something warmer and gentler; he smiles, something a touch apologetic to the curl of his lips. 

"You are not hurt?" He murmurs, taking a slow and deliberate step forwards. Jaebeom shakes his head mutely. “Good. I deeply apologise for the behaviour of some of my court. You have my word that they will not bother you again.” He says with a deep bow; Jaebeom breathes in and out and swallows hard.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He mumbles, flushing when Jinyoung straightens up to beam at him, eyes crinkling.

“Would you allow me to escort you home?” He asks, turning a little to the side and offering an elbow. Jaebeom hesitates, glancing around for any onlookers but once again the street seems deserted. Jinyoung just waits, patient and smiling; well, how much harm can there be in this? He did just help him out after all. Jaebeom sighs and shifts the flowers into his left hand, fumbling the rings from his right then stepping up beside Jinyoung and taking his arm. 

Something happens; Jaebeom shivers, an odd electricity tingling through him and setting his teeth on edge as soon as he touches Jinyoung’s arm. He looks down in alarm, eyes snapping wide open to see himself glamoured invisible. It hurts a little to look at his body, he can’t quite focus on it beyond the glamour and Jinyoung just smiles at him when he looks back up. 

“How- I didn’t know it was possible to glamour a human.” He splutters. Jinyoung looks away, smile curving higher. 

“It’s not.” Is all he says. Jaebeom stares at him as he’s gently tugged forwards; what does he mean it’s not possible, he’s done it, hasn’t he? Unless this is some technicality, it’s not  _ technically  _ a glamour for some magical reason. Seems like the sort of thing faeries would take very seriously and use to confuse; Jaebeom sighs, shooting Jinyoung another disgruntled glance as they walk. If he notices, he doesn’t react, that same smile on his face and his chin high, tipping his face towards the sun. 

“What do you want from me?” Jaebeom asks, again. He doesn’t expect a real answer, more asking for the petulance of it; indeed, Jinyoung just smiles wider and slowly looks over at him. 

“The pleasure of your company, of course.” He murmurs, reaching over to pat Jaebeom’s hand on his bicep. Jaebeom narrows his eyes.

“What else?” He insists impatiently, but Jinyoung just chuckles, light and musical. A light breeze picks up, ruffling his gently curling hair; Jaebeom ignores the panging desire to run his hands through it to see if it’s as soft as it looks.

“What do you think I want?” He counters softly, glancing down at the flowers in the crook of Jaebeom’s arm with a wicked grin. Jaebeom inhales slowly and exhales in a rush, the corner of his eye twitching irritably.

“If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking.” He says tersely. Jinyoung laughs again.

“I see you did what I asked.” He murmurs. Jaebeom, momentarily baffled by the change of subject, just peers at him as Jinyoung slows them to a stop, barely registering that they’re already outside his apartment building.

Only to freeze when Jinyoung’s hand lifts to his chin, fingers curling beneath it and his thumb brushing the corner of his lips; of course. His  _ request. _ Jaebeom had changed out the silver studs in his lip for titanium rings this morning. At the time, still giddy from the dance and bitterly regretting wearing them then, it had only been sensible, but now,  _ now  _ he’s staring down a faery Prince that seems to want to kiss him. And now there’s no physical reason it can’t happen and the scariest part is that Jaebeom thinks he  _ wants  _ it to.

“Jaebeom.” Jinyoung whispers; Jaebeom twitches, ripping his eyes away from the pink curves of Jinyoung’s lips to meet multi-coloured eyes. He’s smiling, head cocked just a little. “You’re thinking very hard.” There’s a laugh clinging to his voice. Jaebeom flushes and unconsciously licks his lips; Jinyoung’s eyes flash when Jaebeom’s tongue brushes his thumb, still poised at the corner of his mouth and Jaebeom’s flush gets darker. He sways closer, barely inches between them now and his thumb moves to swipe over his lower lip, pressing down gently in the middle of it; his smile sharpens over razor sharp teeth when Jaebeom parts his lips without thinking. “May I?” He breathes. A tiny part of him screaming at the rest of his brain, Jaebeom nods. 

Jaebeom’s misgivings fall silent the instant Jinyoung’s lips touch his. He’s gentle yet not, lips soft but unyielding and insistent, one firm press, a barely perceptible pause, then another coaxing his lips apart. Heart kicking up a gear, Jaebeom kisses him back, barely remembering the flowers in his left hand and instead clutching at Jinyoung’s shoulder just with his right, sliding it up to grip the back of his neck. Jinyoung’s hands find his hips then slip higher, encircling his waist and squeezing, pulling him in the last bit closer so they’re pressed together in their entirety.

Jaebeom’s dizzy by the time Jinyoung pulls away but he doesn’t stop himself from sliding his hand up into Jinyoung’s hair - even softer than it looked - and pulling him back in for another kiss, still but lingering. Jinyoung smiles against his lips, nose nudging Jaebeom’s when he cocks his head and pulls back with a chuckle.

“When may I see you again?” He whispers. Panting his breath back, Jaebeom squeaks a laugh in return.

“I’m- free. Whenever.” He gasps without thinking. Jinyoung giggles and presses another gentle kiss to his lips.

“Then I will see you tomorrow.” Is breathed into Jaebeom’s mouth before Jinyoung steps back; his knuckles caress Jaebeom’s cheek and he bows his head with a grin and then when Jaebeom next blinks he’s just gone.

Jaebeom presses a hand to his racing heart and stumbles back into the gate behind him as that same tingling rush as before washes over him, this time leaving him visible. His elbow bumps a railing, feet slipping beneath him and he catches himself on it without thinking, only to rip his hand away with a hiss; it’s so hot it burns, painfully so. He glares at it, kicking it open and shaking out his hand; it must have been sat out in the sun all day or some faery’s pranking him or- something. He has bigger things to worry about right now, like the fact that he just  _ kissed _ the  _ Prince of Autumn  _ and _ wanted to  _ and  _ enjoyed it _ and agreed to  _ meet him again _ .

Jaebeom shoves into his flat, gently placing the roses into the vase alongside the hibiscuses - still thriving and blooming as big as ever - then chucking his bag to the floor with a frustrated yell. He ruffles his hair with both hands, gripping it tight and tugging; he’s not sure if he’s angrier with Jinyoung for being so alluring or with himself for being so easily allured. He licks his lips. They’re still tingling, sensitive when he touches them with a fingertip.

Jaebeom plops down onto the floor and buries his face in his hands. 

“Hello Jaebeom!” Bambam chirps when he trudges into the coffee shop. Jaebeom’s answering smile is weak, shaking on his face; once again, he slept terribly, apprehensive and, though he’ll never admit it aloud, shamefully excited about this rendezvous today. He doesn’t know when or where Jinyoung’s going to intercept him; he’s just glad it wasn’t during his morning lectures. 

“Hi,” he mumbles, “can I get a latte, please?” Bambam nods, flashing him a grin and grabbing a cup.

“Two, please.” A voice cuts in, musical and by now incredibly familiar. Jaebeom freezes at a touch to his back, a flat palm smoothing down from his shoulder blade to the dip of his waist; Jinyoung steps up next to him, his human glamour ever so slightly offset from his actual form making Jaebeom’s eyes hurt when he gapes at him in disbelief. He just smiles, dragging Jaebeom closer into his side and hugging him a little tighter. All one has to do is  _ think _ of the devil, it seems. 

“Of course.” Bambam murmurs, dreamy and faraway; an odd glaze to his eyes, he plucks free another cup and smiles vaguely. “Please sit down.” Jaebeom tries to speak but Jinyoung does before he can.

“Thank you.” He grits out, face twisting in distaste while his glamour continues to smile, but his expression clears into something pleased when he looks away to see Jaebeom staring at him. He squeezes Jaebeom’s waist, leading him away and leaning close to murmur into his ear. “Good afternoon, Jaebeom.” Jaebeom’s breath hisses out through his teeth and he digs his heels in, grinding them to a stop in the middle of the cafe and whirling on him with a frown. Jinyoung’s eyebrows twitch up, an inordinately impressed grin on his face; Jaebeom’s not sure why, he must have let them come to a stop, Jaebeom’s under no illusions of his strength compared to Jinyoung’s. “Is something wrong? You did say you wanted to see me today.” He says, outwardly contrite and worried but his smile underneath his glamour is wicked, his eyes flashing. Jaebeom swallows, burning under the confused and concerned glances of the other patrons. He forces himself to relax, cranking a sheepish smile onto his face and bowing his head.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just had a long morning. Thanks for coming to see me.” He says softly and deliberately, eyes narrowing slightly but triumphantly when Jinyoung bristles at his wording, though he also looks impressed again, albeit reluctantly.

“Don’t worry,  _ darling _ ,” he says, gentle and considerate and sending an abrupt jolt through Jaebeom’s entire body, “come sit down.” He takes Jaebeom’s elbow, still so gently, and leads him over to his usual booth. Reeling, Jaebeom stumbles alongside him and plops into the seat, resisting the urge to fan his suddenly heated face. Jinyoung sits opposite him, graceful and smooth. His glamour is wearing simple but normal clothes, slacks and a button down shirt, but beneath it he’s dressed in finery, an intricately braided double-breasted tailcoat, deep rich brown with gold details, and plain trousers tucked into exquisite brown boots, slightly heeled and reaching up to his knees. Jaebeom, in a t-shirt and jeans, feels underdressed just looking at him. “I’ve been excited to see you all morning.” He murmurs, quiet like a confession but there’s still a lopsided grin on his face. Jaebeom coughs a sheepish laugh, stiffening at a touch to his shin, one of Jinyoung’s feet slotting between his own.

“I didn’t know when you would be coming so…” Jaebeom tails off as Bambam, clearly past his daze - Jinyoung’s fault, of course, he probably charmed the whole place so no one would notice him appearing from thin air - as he shoots Jaebeom a conspiratorial wink, sets two takeaway cups onto the table in front of them.

“Here you go,” he says brightly, “let me know if there’s anything else you need.” Jinyoung beams up at him, wide and dazzling. It does its job; Bambam blinks quickly, a faint flush of pink coming to his cheeks, but he recovers quickly and flashes a smile back. “I didn’t get your name, so yours is the cup without one.” He chirps, so clearly fishing but Jinyoung, obviously, takes the bait with a sidelong glance at Jaebeom, the toe of his shoe trailing up and down the inside of Jaebeom’s ankle.

“I’m Jinyoung,” he says, voice soft and sweet, “Jaebeom’s boyfriend.” This, Jaebeom was half expecting and it must be for this reason that it doesn’t sound as wrong as it should. Predictably, Bambam straightens up with a grin and a coo, the look he sends Jaebeom screaming “we’ll talk about this later”. Jaebeom’s answering smile is wobbly and unconvincing, but Bambam doesn’t seem to notice.

“It’s nice to meet you, Jinyoung,” he chirps, “I’ll leave you to it then. Enjoy!” And with a final short bow, he turns on his heel and scarpers to the counter again. Fuming and flustered, Jaebeom grabs his coffee and drags it to himself.

“What was that?” He hisses. Jinyoung hums, planting an elbow onto the table and resting his chin on his palm.

“What?” He asks innocently, sharp teeth flashing behind his grin. “I was just telling him the truth.” His other hand reaches over, nudging the back of Jaebeom’s then curling fingers around his palm when he doesn’t snatch it away. Jaebeom tells himself it’s just so he doesn’t make another scene, but there’s a little warm flutter in his belly at his touch that suggests that might be a lie.

“I’ve never said you were my boyfriend.” Jaebeom bites out. Jinyoung chuckles, eyes crinkling at the corners and his thumb caressing Jaebeom’s fingers. He doesn’t pull his hand away.

“Did you need to?” He whispers. “I’ve been courting you and you’ve accepted my advances. I’ve given you gifts and you’ve kissed me in return.” His voice softens and turns to silk. Jaebeom swallows, unable to look away from his shifting eyes; they’re warm, flickering from reds to yellows to pinks and full of indulgent fondness. “There’s but one more step before we could be called lovers, after all.” His voice sounds like whisky tastes, spiced and smooth and burning the centre of Jaebeom’s chest. He sucks in a breath and blows it out in a rush.

“Is that what you want from me?” He asks, voice softer than he wishes it to be. Weaker, too much like he’s distracted, like his mind has seized on this idea and started running away with it. The truth of it, but a truth Jaebeom would like - for now, a traitorous voice whispers - to remain concealed. Jinyoung smiles, small and restrained but there’s wildness held behind it, threatening to burst free at any moment.

“I want everything you would give me, Jaebeom.” He murmurs. He tilts his head, cheek pushing into his fingers. “What do you want me to do?” Jaebeom sucks in a deep breath; this is his chance, his chance to tell Jinyoung to leave him be, to put his life back to the way it was, back to normality. But the words stick in his throat, mouth opening and nothing coming out. He  _ should  _ say it, he should tell Jinyoung that he wants nothing more to do with him, but he’s just- stuck. Because that’s  _ not  _ what he wants.

“If I asked you to leave and not come back, would you?” He finds himself asking, voice a wisp. Jinyoung tilts his head, blinking slowly. 

“If you tell me truthfully that you want me to leave, you would never see me again.” He says softly, but there’s a knowing sparkle to his eyes, like he knows that Jaebeom can’t do that. “Is that what you want, Jaebeom?” He asks, petal pink lips pushing out just a fraction. Jaebeom’s left tongue-tied again and Jinyoung’s grin sharpens the longer he’s silent. He pulls on Jaebeom’s hand, drawing it across the table towards him and shifting his grip to hold his fingers. He lifts it, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, eyes locked onto Jaebeom’s the whole time. Jaebeom closes his mouth, swallows, grips Jinyoung’s hand. 

“I don’t know.” He stutters. Jinyoung lowers their hands back to the table and clasps Jaebeom’s between both of his. 

“Well, while you consider,” he murmurs, “would you let me show you my court?” He asks, a pleased purr rumbling in his voice. Jaebeom finds himself nodding and Jinyoung smiles. “Then let us go.” He stands, pulling Jaebeom up too; coffee forgotten, Jaebeom stumbles alongside him, out of the shop and into the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so..... things are really kicking off now huh friends :^) let me know what you thought!!! either down below or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles)!! and next week.... its Court time babey


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so!! onwards!! the song for this chapter is [ezgod - my stranger (feat. riell)](https://youtu.be/VZDaLS5ZBjw) lyrics are in the closed captions and please please listen to it!! u won't regret it, it's a super good song and it's so perfect for this fic, seriously,,, if u only listen to one of the songs I rec for this fic make it this one!!!  
thanks friends as always for all your support <3 people really seem to be enjoying this fic and I hope u all continue to do so!! <3<3 also just so y'all are aware there are a couple of new tags!! take a look at them!! and bear in mind the general warning in the notes in chapter 1, take care of yourselves friendos <3

Jinyoung leads him away, away from the campus towards the park that runs alongside. He snaps his fingers as they approach the treeline and Jaebeom’s ears pop as a different scene appears stretched between two trunks, not the sunlit stretch of grass with scattered with rusted frames for football nets, but a forest track, lined with lilacs and pink and white anemones and winding deeper into the thickening trees. Beyond, it’s not midday, the sky the burnt orange of sunset, directionless light filtering dim and hazy through the leaves. It’s cooler too, Jaebeom’s breath misting lightly before him as Jinyoung pulls him through, his glamour dissolving. 

He slows when they’re through, once Jaebeom’s ears have popped again and the tear through to his university campus has closed when he glances back over his shoulder. Dull fear pounds at the back of his head - he should have asked if the tear could be left open, unwise as that would have been - but it eases a little when Jinyoung squeezes his hand.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve had the pleasure of showing someone new my court.” He murmurs, a broad grin on his face as he leads Jaebeom down the path. Jaebeom coughs a laugh, stumbling beside him, dizzy on the flowers’ scents, thick and sweet and heady. He giggles, striding ahead to spin around and drag Jaebeom closer; one hand lifts, delicate fingers brushing his cheek before sliding into his hair and holding the back of his head, deceptively strong as he’s pulled into a kiss. Jaebeom gasps into his mouth, both hands fisting in the fine material of Jinyoung’s shirt; he grins, sharp teeth digging into Jaebeom’s bottom lip hard enough to hurt before he whirls away and takes off again with a high laugh.

Heart thundering in his chest, Jaebeom swallows thickly and touches his lips, eyes widening at the tiny smear of deep red on his fingertip; it’s the wrong colour, too dark and too saturated. He wipes his mouth again, this time on the back of his hand, but it comes away clean and there’s no split when he prods at it with his tongue, not even the taste of iron. He wipes at his fingertip with his thumb, smearing the colour into nothing and pushing the strangeness aside with a shiver.

“Welcome home, Jaebeom.” Jinyoung murmurs; Jaebeom lifts his head and gasps. The path has crested a shallow hill and, nestled among sky-scraping trees with rich orange-brown leaves and other, more impossible, flora, sits a palace. Crafted of deep brown wood and sparkling quartz-veined marble, its spires stretch high to silhouette against the sunless sky, glittering stained glass windows dotting the facade and a huge wall of perfect smoky quartz hung with vines and creepers surrounding the courtyard, a portcullis cut into the stone lined with leafy plants, all blossoming flowers in shades of red and yellow. The path before them is lined with more flowers, more kinds and colours that Jaebeom can name, some he knows couldn’t possibly exist in the mundane world; white trumpet-shaped lilies with petals so thin they’re translucent, huge drooping foxgloves stretching metres above his head with flowers the size of his torso, pale lilac roses entirely formed from glass but swaying gently in the breeze.

Jinyoung’s palm settles on the small of Jaebeom’s back; it should have made him jump, a little part of him notes, but it didn’t. He’s admittedly distracted, gaping at the scene before him. He knew, in the abstract and from inferences from faeries’ appearances, that the Courts must be beautiful, but seeing one in person is another thing entirely. 

“Come, Jaebeom,” Jinyoung murmurs, voice wrapping lovingly around the syllables of his name, “I have more to show you.” He presses Jaebeom forwards, leading him down the path towards the entrance into the palace. “This is, of course, not the entirety of my Court, simply the seat of it,” he continues softly, “I do hope it is to your liking.” Jaebeom wheezes a strangled laugh, following a curling vine of pure gold up the length of one of the enormous trees.

“I- this is-” he stammers, tongue tripping over itself all the more when Jinyoung chuckles and slides his hand to Jaebeom’s waist, tugging him into his side, “this- just- wow.” His voice fades to nothing as they approach the gate; huge and wrought from crystal clear quartz and standing open. A fanfare crows as they approach, horn blasts sounding their arrival and a cheer rising from the courtyard. 

“The Court is eager to meet you.” Jinyoung whispers into his ear before stepping from his side, one brown-gloved hand raised for Jaebeom to take. This time, Jaebeom doesn’t even think about it, sliding his hand into Jinyoung’s and letting himself be led forwards into the courtyard.

Something washes over him as he crosses the threshold, a tingling rush like the glamour from before but stronger, penetrating down to his very bones; he looks down and stumbles, mouth dropping open in shock. Gone are his jeans and t-shirt, replaced by finery rivalling Jinyoung’s, a similar embroidered tailcoat in pure white edged with the same gold as Jinyoung’s, matching trousers and pale brown boots. There are new rings on his hands, all in gold and glittering with precious gems, deep blue sapphires, rich garnets, sparkling yellow topaz and, when he lifts his head, metal brushes his neck, heavier earrings dangling from his lobes and different, colder studs through the cartilage and his lip. 

“What-” He breathes, looking up to Jinyoung; he’s staring at him, eyes deep and liquid, his expression halfway between rapt appreciation like one would direct towards a masterwork of art and something darker, something possessive and delighted and  _ hungry _ . Jaebeom swallows, words dying in his throat and warmth creeping up the back of his neck as Jinyoung smiles.

“Come.” Is all he says, light but layered, a whispered promise at the curled corners of his lips. He pulls Jaebeom forwards, out of the shadow of the portcullis and only now, free from Jinyoung’s pinning stare, does Jaebeom pay attention to what lies before him. All of the blood rushes from his head and he barely manages to put one foot in front of the other; the courtyard is full of faeries and all of them are looking at him. The crowds are cheering and there’s light triumphant music playing somewhere, but it all feels faraway, tinny; the only thing that feels real is Jinyoung’s hand in his, leading him through the walkway cleared between the portcullis and the stained glass doors of the palace. “They have been anticipating your arrival for ages.” They do seem excited, clapping and dancing and making merry. Jaebeom can’t help feeling a little flattered, though he’s mostly confused. Jinyoung, of course, doesn’t explain any further, leading him to the marble stairs leading up to the doors.

They swing open as they approach, silent and smooth and revealing a long hall, ending in more stained glass and lined with vine-wrapped pillars. There’s a throne at the far end raised on a marble dais, but it’s too far to make out details and Jaebeom’s pulled to a stop by Jinyoung, turned back to face the crowds. They’ve spilled out, filling the walkway between them and the gate, all eyes trained on the pair of them. Jinyoung raises their linked hands, then drops into a bow, dragging Jaebeom down too; he stares unseeingly at the marble floor as raucous cheers and singing breaks out, before Jinyoung pulls him upright again. There’s an amused smile on his face when Jaebeom looks at him and he lifts their hands again, bringing them to his mouth to press a kiss to the back of Jaebeom’s. A fresh wave of cheering erupts, but Jinyoung doesn’t look back and neither does Jaebeom as they head inside.

The doors shut behind them with a hollow boom, sealing out the clamour and leaving the hall close to silent. Hidden from the eager eyes of thousands of fae, Jaebeom breathes a little more easily, though one glance at Jinyoung's darkly eager gaze has his chest tightening back up again. He doesn't say anything though, just steps close beside him and places a palm on his back, coaxing him forwards. 

Their footsteps ring and echo through the hall, bouncing off crystal walls and wooden supports. Portions of the walls are polished to a shine, clear enough to act as a perfect mirror. Jaebeom stares at his own reflection. He almost doesn't recognise himself in the fancy clothes but beyond that, his own face looks odd, something just subtly out of place. He almost disregards it, puts it down to the odd greenish light filtering from the semi-translucent ceiling, to standing beside Jinyoung and unconsciously comparing the two of them, but as he passes from one smooth mirror to the next, a jagged shattered thing, he sees a glimpse of something different. Himself, but not, bones subtly shifted, a greenish tinge to his skin, living writhing vines tattooed onto his skin and flowering down his jaw. His eyes, shifting colours and glowing in the dull light, flushed red lips pulling back from white teeth in a grin without Jaebeom doing the same.

Jaebeom freezes, staggering to a stop. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, but this time his own shattered face, his own eyes stare back, wide and afraid. One shard of Jinyoung's face, one eye and the corner of his smiling mouth, stares at him too. His hand slides higher, fingers splayed on his shoulder blade, and he leans in to place a kiss onto the side of Jaebeom's neck.

"What's wrong, darling?" He murmurs, cool breath raising hairs on the back of Jaebeom's neck. Jaebeom swallows hard, watches himself blink too quickly and flush just a little, as Jinyoung's hand slips up to the top of his shoulder, thumb pressing into the knob of his spine. He opens his mouth, vague and uncertain questions clamouring to spill from it, and Jinyoung tilts his head, fingers curling against his skin.

"Your Highness!" Comes a call from the entrance of the hall. Jinyoung's expression twists, top lip peeling back from his teeth with a frustrated growl but he turns, glowering the length of the hall.

"What?" He barks, grip tightening on Jaebeom's shoulder. Jaebeom shuts his mouth and turns, watching Mark, Jackson and Yugyeom hurry the length of the hall. Jackson looks harried, Mark amused and Yugyeom nervous, his gaze darting up to Jaebeom's then quickly away again.

"Her Verdant Highness is here and wishes to speak to you." Jackson says, twitching into a bow and rising with a grimace flickering in Jaebeom’s direction. Jinyoung stiffens and he huffs another growl; Jaebeom winces as his nails, now sharp enough and long enough to cut through his gloves, dig into his neck. 

"She won't be turned away." Mark adds, an undercurrent of laughter bubbling in his voice. He seems delighted at Jinyoung's irritation, head cocked birdlike and his eyes bright and glittering, flicking between him and Jaebeom, but Jinyoung just sighs and removes his hand from Jaebeom's shoulder. 

"Very well," he says reluctantly, "take me to her. Yugyeom, please show Jaebeom to the gardens while I'm gone." He steps away, Mark and Jackson falling into step behind him but sharing an uncertain and, on Jackson’s part, anxious look between them; Jackson almost looks back at Jaebeom, but just catches himself. An expression of something like horror passing over his face but gone in an instant, Yugyeom nods and bows quickly, shying away as Jinyoung passes. As he walks away without a backwards glance and strips his ruined gloves from his hands to toss them aside without a care, he shimmers, a cloak woven from red-brown leaves spilling down from his shoulders and billowing around him and a jagged golden circlet appearing on his head; the doors crank open just enough for them to pass before they slam shut again with a resounding crash. 

"Please, follow me." Yugyeom murmurs after a few seconds' frozen staring; Jaebeom shakes himself and nods, offering him a shaky smile. Jinyoung has become something of a safe harbour in the storm that is this place and without him nearby, Jaebeom feels like he’s caught in a rip-tide, fighting to keep his head above the water. But Yugyeom may be the least threatening faery Jaebeom has ever met, shyly returning his smile and quickly looking away with a gesture to follow.

Yugyeom leads him further into the hall, past the intricately carved throne on its dais - seemingly cut from a living tree, shoots and branches reaching up from the back of it, leafing and flowering in deep reds and browns and oranges - and through a set of glass double doors behind it. Beyond is a huge staircase, leading up to a platform then turning back and forth to climb higher, but again Yugyeom leads him past, through another door to the left of the staircase and into a corridor lined with masterfully crafted paintings and statues.

"Who is- her Verdant Highness?" Jaebeom asks when the silence becomes unbearable. Yugyeom, his head bowed, startles upright and glances back at him with wide eyes. They're bluish-green, pale but vibrant. 

"Her- she is the Princess of Spring and the Seelie Courts." He stammers. Jaebeom gulps; a second Court royal here as well. Yugyeom seems to share his apprehension, chewing on his lip and a visible shiver running down his back. “Jackson is her retainer. He’s of the Spring Court as well.” He mumbles, seeking to fill the silence too. 

“Oh-” Jaebeom blinks; he’d assumed all of them were from the Autumn Court, given they seemed to be doing Jinyoung’s bidding giving him flowers and all- “are you Spring too?” He asks a little louder. Yugyeom shakes his head, fluffy hair bouncing into his eyes. He pushes it back, tucking some behind a pointed ear. A red leaf flutters on his cheek, peeling away to reveal a cluster of tiny white berries and thin green leaves. Mistletoe, clinging to the stem inked in front of his ear. 

“No, I’m of Autumn,” he murmurs, “though Mark is of Winter. Youngjae too. As Unseelie, they have mostly free reign here in the Autumn Court.” Jaebeom nods. They’re approaching another glass door, clear but warped and difficult to peer through. 

“So Jackson- doesn’t? Since he’s Seelie?” He asks, trying to straighten it all out in his head. Yugyeom’s head tilts.

“Jackson- is a special case. He is highly placed in her Verdant Highness’s court, but his Fell Highness regards him as a close friend. Jackson... likes to share.” Yugyeom glances back meaningfully and Jaebeom thinks he understands; Jackson spies for Jinyoung in the Spring Court. 

Yugyeom smiles sheepishly and raises a hand as they approach the door; it swings open, leading into the gardens. Meticulously curated and overflowing with colour, Jaebeom stares around wide-eyed and open-mouthed. He walks past Yugyeom without even thinking, stepping out of the sheltered hallway and onto the gravel pathway winding through the flowerbeds, the scents, hundreds somehow mingling into something coherent and wonderful, washing over him in a wave. He can't even name half of the plants, flowers of every shape and size and colour filling the beds around trees dripping with vines and strange fruits. Its breathtaking.

"-Jaebeom." Yugyeom calls, impatient like it's not his first time doing so. Jaebeom whirls and startles to find him just a few feet behind him, a little frown on his face. "Be careful," he says, hushed and conspiratorial; Jaebeom leans forwards unconsciously, brow furrowing too, "things aren't as they seem. The Prince is-" A noise, chattering laughter off to the left. Yugyeom jumps and leaps backwards, eyes fixed on another door at the edge of the garden. 

"What-" Jaebeom splutters, reaching out to grab Yugyeom's draping sleeve, but his fingers just close on air as he whirls and hurries away, head down and fingers scratching at the opposite shoulder.

A group bursts from the other door, giggling and talking, but they fall into hushed whispers and pointed glances when they notice Jaebeom standing there. Jaebeom barely has mind to glance back, staring down blindly at a bed of yellow snapdragons and red begonias; Yugyeom is right. He needs to be more careful. He's been so swept up in Jinyoung's regard and the beautiful alien nature of this place that he's forgotten how dangerous it is, that any of these faeries would kill him as soon as look at him for what he can see were it not for Jinyoung's protection. Though maybe that is in question now; what was Yugyeom going to say about Jinyoung?

Jaebeom paces the garden. Faeries come in gaggles, lurking at the sheltered edges and whispering amongst themselves, most just gawking at him curiously but a few pass through with hateful glares, hissing in his direction but coming no closer than the path ringing the garden. One particularly brave faery enters the garden, a twisted thing like a human crossed with a cat and a bird, its face deformed into a beak and wicked sharp talons on its hands but a long fluffy tail, a four-legged gait and far too human blue eyes. It’s nervous, following him in a wide circle and skittering away whenever he makes a turn, but it gradually creeps closer, snapping its jaws and croaking an approximation of laughter. Its fellows echo its giggles, gasping and nudging each other.

"What?" Jaebeom asks, halfway between brusque and fearful, when it darts a little closer. It squawks, dashing away to hide behind its companions. There's a terrible snapping, cracking, popping sound before the thing re-emerges, this time shaped entirely like a sleek black panther, only its blue human eyes betraying it. It creeps closer again, head low and a nervous birdlike twittering escaping it. Fear ebbing - it seems more scared of him than he of it - Jaebeom crouches down and holds a hand out, a wobbly smile coming to his face when it sniffs his hand and butts its face against it.

But then it startles, jumps back, wide eyes staring behind Jaebeom, before it turns and flees, chasing its fellows from the garden. Jaebeom, frozen in place and the back of his neck pricking, daren't breathe.

"I hope no one has bothered you." Jinyoung murmurs; Jaebeom thaws, sagging with relief before slowly standing and turning. Jinyoung stands beneath an oak heavy with acorns, jagged crown still atop his head and cloak of leaves spilling from his shoulders, fastening with a glittering gold brooch set with rich sapphires. Every bit the embodiment of autumn with his eyes glittering through red and browns, he smiles, a slow sticky thing. Jaebeom gasps, unaware of having held his breath. 

Jinyoung cocks his head and takes a step forwards; Jaebeom takes the rest, through the path between beds to stop before Jinyoung, seize his jaw and kiss him. He's not sure what's come over him - suspicion muted behind a deep and frustrated desire, welling from depths Jaebeom didn't know he had - and he hears, distantly, more whispers, faeries hidden behind leaves and trees and bushes watching, but he finds he doesn't care, not when Jinyoung drags him closer and chuckles into his mouth, when it feels like something's settled into place in his chest, like a key into a lock or a puzzle piece into a picture. Jaebeom kisses him until his lungs start crying for air, until his head spins and the ground rocks beneath him; it's Jinyoung that stops it, fisting a hand in Jaebeom's hair and yanking his head back, hard enough to hurt, but the sting is soothed by a warm pair of lips pressing to the line of his jaw.

"I had thought to show you everything of this place," he murmurs, lips dragging up to his earlobe, "but perhaps that can wait." Sharp teeth dig into the shell of Jaebeom's ear; he hisses, hands slipping down to fist in Jinyoung's jacket and shove him back to look him in the eye. There's a tiny smudge of blood on his smile. “Perhaps-” he cups Jaebeom’s cheek, thumb pressing to his lips, warmth even through the soft leather of his glove- “I should just show you to my quarters.” Jaebeom flushes, swallowing hard as Jinyoung’s grin tugs wider, but he slowly nods. There’s a chorus of gasps and excited whispers but Jinyoung pays them no mind, simply dropping his hand to Jaebeom’s wrist and tugging, turning on his heel and leading him back into the palace. Jaebeom stumbles after him, tucking in close beside and keeping his head down, avoiding the curious and eager eyes that watch him as they walk.

This is such a terrible idea. He knows this and laments, because he also knows that he  _ wants  _ this, everything terrible and wonderful and oh so tempting. He wants Jinyoung’s hand in his, to walk this palace and see what more beauty it holds, to know this place and Jinyoung in turn. He, in turn,  _ knows  _ full well that this is how they lure people in, they give a taste of pleasure and secrets and beauty and use curiosity and dizzy pleasure as a trap, but that little scared distrustful part of him gets smaller and smaller the longer he’s here, dwindling into nothing when Jinyoung casts a smile and a laugh over his shoulder, a sparkle in his glowing eyes.

Jinyoung leads him up the stairs. All of the stairs, all six flights, but Jaebeom’s barely even winded when they reach the top; he doesn’t have a chance to question it or even wonder before Jinyoung’s pulling him forwards and spinning him around to press him to the ornate gilded door on the other side of the small landing. His head thuds into the wood and Jinyoung just crushes him to it harder, one gloved hand gripping his jaw tight and the other biting into his hip, lips hot and insistent and forcing Jaebeom’s apart. Shivering, Jaebeom lets him take, throwing both arms around his neck and hanging on for dear life; he tastes like syrup and metal, sharp teeth cutting into Jaebeom’s tongue when he gathers wherewithal to respond. 

Jinyoung pulls away abruptly, hand on Jaebeom’s jaw keeping him pinned so he can’t follow, the other coming up to plant next to his head, hard enough the door rattles in its hinges; he sucks in a deep breath and blows it out, staring at Jaebeom like he wants to eat him alive. Bones shift in his face, the tongue that licks over red lips unsettlingly long and wickedly dextrous. For the length of three of Jaebeom’s racing heartbeats, his irises settle onto a deep fiery orange, pupils blowing out to the width of them before contracting to slits then nothing at all, that orange blooming outwards to take up the whole of his sockets. Jaebeom’s head spins, the world tilting on its axis, blurring into impossible blended colours; he squeezes his eyes shut hard but Jinyoung kisses him again with a pleased growl before he can open them again.

“You really are the one I’ve been waiting for.” Jinyoung rasps into his mouth, almost a moan, before he steps away fully and pulls Jaebeom with him to shove open the door. His eyes refocusing and legs unsteady, Jaebeom stumbles into Jinyoung, flushing when he chuckles and wraps an arm around his waist, a clawed hand squeezing his hip possessively.

The room beyond the door is magnificent, but if Jaebeom didn’t know they were in a palace he would say it was outside; the ceiling is clear crystal and the sky above is dark, directionless moonlight filtering into the room but bright enough to see everything perfectly. The floor is springy grass and the edges of the room are lined with trees and bushes and flowers, all forming a loose pathway towards the throne; this throne is of twisted branches sprouting red leaves and clustered berries, surrounded by dark violet aconite, deep pink anemones and pure scarlet dahlias. 

Behind the throne is a curtain of vines, too thick to see through and it’s towards this, past the throne, that Jinyoung walks Jaebeom. The curtain parts as they approach and beyond - Jaebeom’s breath catches, warmth rising up his neck - are Jinyoung’s bedchambers. The bed is clearly the masterpiece of the room, a huge four-poster draped in wispy silk and hanging plants, flowers carved into the tree trunks that make up the posts and real blooms scattered on the silken sheets. But then Jinyoung pulls them to a stop, dragging Jaebeom into another heady kiss, but his ulterior motive becomes quickly clear; Jaebeom gasps, almost a squeak, when Jinyoung’s hands skim over his ass to grip his thighs, hoisting him into the air with no effort at all, a casual and obvious display of strength that has a shiver of muted fear and something richer skittering down his spine. He doesn’t protest, taking advantage of Jinyoung’s occupied hands to slide his own into Jinyoung’s hair and grip, his circlet knocked askew and falling to the floor, reluctantly submitting to the trade-off of Jinyoung’s chuckle and coaxing into wrapping his legs around his waist. Jinyoung’s grin presses to his lips as he starts moving again, sharp teeth teasing his lips only to soothe the marks with his tongue.

And then he stops and Jaebeom’s suddenly released, thrown backwards; there's a split second of confusion, his gut left behind in the air as he falls, instinctual alarm and fear slamming into him only to be knocked free again when he lands on the bed with a muffled thump. One second Jinyoung’s grinning down at him and the next he’s over him, knelt between his thighs and pressed against the length of him with a wrist pinned in each hand, cloak falling around them both like a shroud. 

“Oh the things I would do to you,” he whispers, voice twisting and overlapping itself, “would you like to hear some of them?” His laugh sounds like crushed glass and birdsong. Jaebeom twists his wrists and gasps when his grip holds firm, arching upwards to press closer; the air feels cold,  _ he  _ feels cold, Jinyoung the only warmth in the room and Jaebeom craves it, needs his warmth more than anything else.

“Why not just show me?” He retorts breathlessly, tight anticipation coiling in his gut. Jinyoung’s eyes flash like he’s given the right answer and he leans down; Jaebeom meets him halfway, fists clenching beside his head. He’s so warm, the dying flame of summer turning to the crackling glow of autumn burning through the layers separating them; now he tastes like smoke and there’s a snarl building at the back of his throat, long tongue pushing into Jaebeom’s mouth too deep, probing the roof of it and licking over his teeth. Jaebeom’s unsettled, twitching beneath him and instinctively trying to yank his hands free, but something else hotter burns underneath his superficial misgivings and he finds himself shuddering, suckling on Jinyoung's tongue and moaning weakly around it.

Jaebeom almost sobs with relief when Jinyoung frees his hands; they find Jinyoung’s shoulders, rucking up the soft cloak as they run over the span of them before finding his hair again, soft locks sliding through his fingers. Jinyoung’s hands move downwards, gripping Jaebeom’s thighs tight and pulling them wider, hooking his knees higher up on his hips. The claws tipping his fingers slice through his fine trousers, threatening to do the same to his skin but not quite pressing hard enough yet. Jaebeom’s ankles cross behind his thighs and he gasps a breathless approximation of Jinyoung’s name when he shifts to kiss down Jaebeom’s cheek, lips burning a trail to the corner of his jaw.

“Yes, my darling?” He giggles, high and playful. Jaebeom’s disgruntled huff morphs into a keen when Jinyoung latches onto the column of his throat, biting down hard with blunted teeth, the shock and pain of it shivering down his spine and, for reasons he can’t fathom right now, settling among the sparks flickering his gut to breathe them brighter. His hips rock up involuntarily and, eyes wide and chest heaving, he gasps when Jinyoung releases him and leans up to smile down at him, razor sharp and  _ smug _ as his hips press down to meet him, a growing weight pressing onto his own hardness.

“What-” Jaebeom wheezes, twitching when Jinyoung’s hand finds his throat, fingertips pressing into the sore mark- “what was that for?” He asks, attempting to sound annoyed but it comes out breathless and petulant. Jinyoung’s expression twists into something Jaebeom can’t quite read, measures of amusement and hunger and something darkly possessive passing over his face; his hand spans Jaebeom’s neck and his thumb digs  _ hard _ into the bruise, hard enough Jaebeom squirms and whimpers, face flushing bright red as he aches with need, desperation,  _ want _ .

“My teeth look pretty on you.” Jinyoung purrs, palm sliding down, over Jaebeom’s chest, slicing slowly through lovely fabric. It’s almost a shame to ruin such pretty clothes, but Jaebeom finds he stops caring when Jinyoung leans down to kiss him as his claws skim Jaebeom’s ribs, reaching up to feel him in return.

Jaebeom doesn’t know how the rest of his clothes are removed, simply resurfacing from a series of heady kisses to himself bare and pressed against soft material and the open flame of Jinyoung’s chest where his jacket hangs clumsily pulled half-open. A lot of the rest is hazy, blurs of warmth against his aching cold, gentle hands and harsh teeth, Jinyoung’s coos of delight at his every strangled gasp. He remembers Jinyoung’s mouth, red lips and long tongue, curling against and pressing into him until he shakes apart with a hoarse cry and hands fisted into soft brown hair and then he keeps  _ going _ until Jaebeom’s sobbing and shuddering and begging for something,  _ anything _ more.

He’s still scattered when Jinyoung sinks into him, barely able to breathe and so lightheaded Jinyoung’s ringed with a dull bronze halo. He’s gentle at the start, soothing and delighted, hands stroking every inch of him and lips soft against Jaebeom’s, littering kisses onto his face and neck and shoulders. He murmurs soft praises, acclamations of Jaebeom’s beauty and loveliness, doting encouragement and sweet nothings; dazed, Jaebeom flushes, mumbles protests until Jinyoung chastises him, then shyly preens. His faculties begin to return and he murmurs back, teases a little and touches everything he can reach, Jinyoung’s body a wonder yet so subtly wrong, the wrong shapes to his bones and swells of muscle slightly out of place, all of it shifting under Jaebeom’s hands in a matter unnerving yet oddly beautiful.

Until Jinyoung, apparently bored of languid movement and sweet words, seals their mouths together and starts to  _ fuck _ him, hard and fast and unforgiving. Jaebeom reels, hanging onto his shoulders, nails raking hard enough down them to draw ochre-coloured blood, dribbling down his fingers and Jinyoung’s biceps in thin little rivulets. He keens and gasps and pleads, loud and unabashed as Jinyoung’s hands roam over him in turn, gripping tight and forcing his thighs up and apart; he snarls, deep and inhuman, when Jaebeom arches and moans, teeth flashing and his eyes settling onto a bright amber, pupils and sclera vanishing into the same colour. Jaebeom can’t look away, eyes half closed and fluttering with every thrust but fixed on that glow; Jinyoung smiles, splitting far too wide.

“Let go, darling.” He says, deep and echoing; Jaebeom’s not sure if he hears it with his ears or straight into his mind, but it’s enough to tip him over into oblivion. He remembers crying out, spilling onto himself and something spilling  _ into  _ him, so hot and so much, warming his cold cold body from the inside and with it coming another cry, sweeter and more melodic than his own ruined voice. He remembers the smells of woodsmoke and bergamot, silk against his back and warmth against his front and a pair of block-orange eyes, glowing at the corners and creased like they’re smiling.

Jaebeom wakes in his own bed. Mid-afternoon, his curtains open to spill sunlight onto his aching body, once again clad in his own - ruined - clothes: torn to ribbons and draped over himself in an approximation of the articles they once were. Sore, dizzy, deeply sated, Jaebeom levers himself upright and grimaces; he’s sticky, but not untowardly so, just with a cold sweat. He’s shivering, freezing in what should be a warm room; blindly, he pats for his phone, plucking it off his bedside table to unlock it and check the time.

Only to freeze at his own reflection, then drop it to the bed and scramble to his feet, dashing for the bathroom and ripping off the scraps of clothing. His heart thuds as he switches the light on; his form blurs for a moment, like he’s been glamoured invisible again but it passes quickly and the full alarming spectacle reveals itself, a harsh gasp tearing from him. He’s covered in bruises, little and large, and on his throat is a deep reddish purple mark perfectly matching the contours of Jinyoung’s teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So!! the spiciness truly begins!! I hope u enjoyed and if there are any tags u think I've missed let me know - I've kept this mature bc the sexy bits aren't suuuper explicit but if u think it should be bumped up, again please let me know!! also just let me know your thoughts!! either down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! and again,,, pleaseeee if u only listen to just one song I rec make it the one for this chapter!!!


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> back at it again; enjoy this chapter folks!! a couple content warnings: there's a small amount of semi-exhibitionism (makes sense in context) and some use of magical stuff during sex (not v explicit) in this chapter and there's also just. weird magic and spooky faeries in this fic but especially in this + the next few chapters so be aware!! take care of yourself!! read my warnings in chapter 1!!   
your song for this week is [besomorph & riell - who am I?](https://youtu.be/af3aGm7C8Ck) it's also super good and relevant so please listen to it!!!!

It’s a good thing it’s autumn proper now; it means no one glances at Jaebeom askance for wearing an oversized scarf or bundling in layers. That cold has sunk into his bones and he’s finding it almost impossible to get warm; the only time it improves is when he's thinking of Jinyoung and the warmth of his hands, his body, his smile. Only then does Jaebeom feel less like ice, like his body has remembered he's warm-blooded. But unfortunately, while warming, thoughts of Jinyoung are distracting; Jaebeom's all over the place, forgetful, distant, airy, so much so he can see himself doing it but feels powerless to stop. 

He feels wrong, off-balance, but somehow this feels  _ right  _ as well. Like this is what he's supposed to do, to be; even the cold feels natural, if unpleasant. It's terrifying. Jaebeom doesn't know what's happening to him and, strange rightness be damned, he wants it to stop. But for the first time in a while, Jinyoung is nowhere to be found. Even five days later, he's nowhere, not even a faery bearing flowers outside Jaebeom's apartment building; Jaebeom feels sick at just how badly he wants him to return, how much he  _ needs  _ it. It's almost like withdrawal, like he's become addicted to Jinyoung's presence.

Most of the bruises fade quickly, gone in a day, but the imprint of teeth in his neck remains livid. Jaebeom resigns himself to wearing a scarf for the rest of his life, laughing it off if anyone notices and asks, but when he's home alone he keeps catching himself admiring it. It's sore, hypersensitive and every time he catches sight of it in the mirror he feels a rush of that heady warmth again; he's brought himself to orgasm more times than he's willing to admit with fingertips pressed hard into the bruise and Jinyoung's name on his lips.

By the middle of the sixth day, Jaebeom is frustrated. Thankfully he hasn't got anything left to do today, no shift or lectures, a small relief considering his distraction. Shivering, he trudges into the coffee shop, smiling sheepishly at Bambam, who perks up at the sight of him; he's been shamefully avoiding the place, not wanting the conversation about his  _ boyfriend _ , but right now he's frozen to the bone and hoping that talking about him will bring some warmth back to himself.

"Hey! Haven't seen you for a while, everything okay?" Bambam asks, sweetly and genuinely worried. Jaebeom shrugs weakly, burrowing his face into his scarf.

“Just been busy, I guess.” He mumbles. Bambam nods sympathetically.

“My shift’s just finishing, I’ll make your coffee then um-” he shrinks a little but smiles hopefully- “come sit with you? You can tell me about it if you want.” He beams wider when Jaebeom huffs a laugh and nods. “Cool.” He chirps, tapping at the cash register. Jaebeom digs out some change, passes it over and heads for his usual table. He slumps into his seat, dropping his head into his hands and rubbing his eyes. The back of his neck prickles under unseen eyes and he turns towards them without thinking, glaring at the pair of bird-shaped faeries perched on one of the outdoor tables; they freeze, then fluff their feathers and scarper, beaks opening and closing as they chatter with each other. Jaebeom turns away, folding his arms and shivering.

Movement from the counter draws his eyes; Bambam, apron hung up on a hook and the cashier manned by a different barista, holds a pair of polystyrene cups and has a confused frown on his face; his eyes drag over the whole shop, sliding unseeingly over Jaebeom. Taken aback, Jaebeom automatically sits up, waving a hand at him when his eyes pass over him again; this time they focus and Bambam turns pink and laughs, bustling over to him and setting down the coffees.

“Sorry, I completely missed you there.” He chuckles. Jaebeom returns it weakly; yet another strangeness to add to his growing list. He’s not sure  _ how  _ Bambam could have missed him, he’s sat right in eyeshot, but he doesn’t have long to dwell on it as Bambam sits himself down and folds his arms on the table with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So tell me about your boyfriend then.” He says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. Jaebeom breathes a laugh, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly. What to say, is the key question. But this time, Bambam comes to his rescue, shooting off rapid fire questions: “How long has it been going on? How did you two meet? Have you- you know-” A wink and a flick of an eyebrow. Jaebeom feels blood rise in his face and almost melts into the warmth filling his chest.

“Not- not long,” he starts haltingly, “I met him- a couple of weeks ago. And we, um-” Bambam once again jumps in and Jaebeom thanks his lucky stars that he won’t have to elaborate on anything more intimate. He takes a sip of his coffee and grimaces; no sugar. He grabs a few packets and empties them into his cup.

“Was he the one who left you flowers?!” He squeals, clapping his hands together in delight when Jaebeom nods. “That’s so romantic, wow.” He rests his chin on his cupped hands, eyes sparkling. “He seemed nice and he was so handsome-” Bambam coos, going off on a tangent about how sweet the two of them looked together. Jaebeom tries to brush off his compliments but otherwise lets him talk, content to let him ramble with minimal input.

Until he unconsciously shifts, running a hand through his hair before settling back down again; Bambam’s eyes drop then pop wide, mouth falling open. Jaebeom starts, following his gaze then freezing; his scarf has slipped, revealing the livid bruise on his neck.

“What is that?” He asks anxiously, leaning over the table to peer closer. Panicked, Jaebeom laughs and tugs his scarf back up.

“Oh, it’s-”

“What the hell happened? It’s so big, does it hurt?” He splutters before Jaebeom can do more than get a word in edgewise, huge eyes flicking between Jaebeom’s face and his neck. He leans forwards, one hand reaching for his scarf; without thinking Jaebeom catches his wrist tight and holds him still. There’s a beat where they just stare at each other, but the tension breaks and Jaebeom lets go, Bambam sits down and they both start apologising.

“I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I’m sorry-”

“No, I should have asked first, don’t worry about it-” Bambam waves a hand, smiling sheepishly- “just- are you okay? That looked pretty nasty.” Jaebeom smiles awkwardly and shrugs one shoulder. He takes another sip of coffee; still way too bitter. He grabs another couple of sugars and tips them in, but it still doesn’t make any difference.

“It’s really fine. Don’t worry.” He mumbles. Bambam looks unconvinced but drops the subject, instead rattling on about his course. Jaebeom answers any questions posited to him and makes appropriate noises of agreement and sympathy, but his mind wanders.

Until a sudden swell of heat bubbles in his chest, spreading through his limbs and settling deep in his belly; he straightens at the presence that steps up beside him but Bambam doesn’t react so he daren’t turn his head. His breath hisses in through his teeth at a gentle touch to his hair; Jinyoung giggles at his reaction, knuckles dragging down his cheek and along his jaw and Jaebeom can’t  _ do _ anything, not without Bambam thinking he’s gone insane.

“Hello, darling,” he coos, bending low to whisper into his ear, “I do hope I’m not intruding.” Jaebeom grits his teeth, forcing himself not to sway towards the warmth radiating from him. 

“You okay?” Bambam asks, brow furrowing. “You look a bit flushed, are you getting sick?” Jaebeom laughs airily and shakes his head; Jinyoung snickers, leaning against the booth partition and grasping his shoulder, squeezing once before slipping lower, under his open jacket to grope his chest, blunt nails digging into it through his t-shirt.

“No I- I’m okay. Just- tired.” Jaebeom mumbles lamely, goosebumps prickling down his neck when Jinyoung blows teasingly against his ear. “I’ve- I’ve actually got to go. Need to- get some work done.” He babbles vaguely; Bambam nods, a worried crease between his brows.

“Well, take care okay? Here-” he fumbles in his bag, pulling free a piece of paper and a pen; he scrawls something onto it and shoves it into Jaebeom’s hands- “let me know when you get home, you really don’t look well.” It’s his mobile number. Jaebeom takes it with a sheepish smile, folding it up and stashing it into his jacket pocket; Jinyoung hisses into his ear, nails suddenly far sharper and sticking into his chest.

“I will. Thanks.” He shuffles out of the booth and stands up, half-empty coffee cup in his hand. Jinyoung makes room for him, one hot palm slipping under his jacket to curl around his waist. “See you later.” Bambam waves and smiles; he waves back and turns, hurrying from the shop. Jinyoung lets go when they’re outside, walking backwards in front of him with a shadowed expression on his face. “What?” Jaebeom hisses, eyes casting left and right for witnesses to him apparently talking to himself. Jinyoung’s lip curls in a sneer and he stops dead, forcing Jaebeom to stop or plough straight into him; Jaebeom stops, but right in front of him, close enough their chests are almost touching, both to reinforce his own irritation and to stand as close to Jinyoung’s warmth as he can.

“Oh, Jaebeom,” Jinyoung rasps, voice distorting, overlapping; he smiles and it’s all teeth, “how little you understand.” Jaebeom bristles, opens his mouth to snap back, but then Jinyoung’s hand lifts to tug his scarf free, cupping the side of his neck to press his thumb into the bruise his teeth left behind and Jaebeom buckles. His knees give out, sagging into the arm that winds tight around his waist, forehead dropping to Jinyoung’s shoulder and the cup clattering to the floor beside him, coffee spilling across the pavement; he feels warm again, like his blood finally has heat to it, everything tingling like his whole body is coming back from being numb.

“What the hell- have you done to me-” He gasps between halted breaths, clinging to Jinyoung’s back and choking down a whimper when his thumb digs in harder, light-headed and dizzy. Jinyoung giggles, turning his head to press soft lips to Jaebeom’s temple.

“This isn’t my doing.” He whispers. Jaebeom growls breathlessly in frustration, but he just starts shivering, shaking from head to toe when Jinyoung coos and shifts him back to kiss him. He’s furious with himself for giving in so easily, melting into his arms, but the frustration ebbs the longer Jinyoung kisses him, giving way to brighter, sharper, hotter emotions, smoking in the pit of his belly. He lets out the last of it in a rush, steadying himself to grasp Jinyoung’s face and assert, direct, biting hard onto his lip and revelling in his pleased hiss.

A car horn blares; Jaebeom startles, wrenching himself free and shoving Jinyoung away and stumbling backwards a step, shivering as cold washes over him like he’d stepped into a freezing shower. He curses himself and Jinyoung in equal measure, himself for giving in so easily and Jinyoung for being so captivating and stares around in horror, but no one is looking at him, not even so much as glancing in their direction. They were stood in the centre of the path, next to a bustling road, and no one so much as glanced at him. They still aren’t - Jaebeom understands that it’s likely Jinyoung dragged some glamour over the two of them, but he’s no longer touching him so surely it shouldn’t still be working, but no one pays him any heed, not even a woman walking past him with less than a foot between them.

“They can’t see you.” Jinyoung murmurs, an enchanting grin on his bitten red lips. Jaebeom shakes his head.

“How- how?” He breathes, strangled. Jinyoung giggles and holds a hand out but Jaebeom, preoccupied, barely notices, staring at his reflection in the coffee shop window with wide eyes. It must be the glass, imperfect somehow, because it looks  _ wrong _ but he can’t quite tell how.

Pressure on his chin turns his head forcefully straight again and an invisible hand grips his chin, holding him still facing Jinyoung; there’s a wicked glint to his eye as he stalks the distance between them to replace the force with his own hand. Jaebeom gasps, involuntary, at his sudden change in temperature.

“What does the how of it matter?” He demands, fingertips biting into Jaebeom’s jaw hard enough to hurt. But he doesn’t let Jaebeom respond, silencing the beginnings of an answer with his lips; Jaebeom instinctively goes to push him away again - they’re in the middle of the street, in broad daylight - but his will to shove him drains away as fast as it arrived, his hands instead twisting in Jinyoung’s silky white shirt to drag him closer. After all, only faeries can see them - besides the vast unlikelihood of there being another human with the sight around - and they always give him a wide berth when Jinyoung’s with him, so they’re as good as alone.

Jinyoung purrs, hands falling down to instead slide down his back, gripping two handfuls of his ass and hauling him closer until they’re flush together. But they don't stay there, restlessly stroking up and down before sliding up to bury in Jaebeom's hair. Jaebeom gasps into his mouth, grabbing his waist to ground himself; it doesn't quite work but it gives him something to cling to when Jinyoung tugs on his hair to tilt his head back, lips dragging down his jaw to press against his throat. 

Jaebeom moans, strangled but still loud, when Jinyoung's teeth latch ever so gently over the bruise on his neck. His eyelids flutter, open then closed again, peeking around at the scene; a normal everyday street with people passing them by, oblivious and unable to see what's happening before them. The secret exhilaration of it, the embarrassed flush on Jaebeom's cheeks balancing the tightly coiling arousal in his gut. 

Jinyoung's teeth dig in a fraction harder, dragging another soft squeak from his lips, before he pulls away to knock their foreheads together. The grin on his face is a wild heady thing and Jaebeom feels drunk, swept away just looking at it, let alone the rush that comes from being able to press kisses to it.

“Let me take you home.” Jinyoung whispers, cradling his face between his palms like its some precious treasure. Jaebeom nods without thinking, his enthusiastic yes lost into another kiss.

Jaebeom, foolishly he now realises, believed Jinyoung to mean  _ his  _ home, but of course he’s whisked towards the nearest pair of trees and into Jinyoung’s palace once again. He doesn’t even bother with the ceremony of arriving in the courtyard or even the throne room; Jaebeom’s marched through a curtain of vines to be shoved unceremoniously onto Jinyoung’s silk sheets. He’s ready when Jinyoung climbs over him though, distracting him with a kiss and flipping them over to straddle his waist. He looks impressed, inordinately so, a wondering glint in his eyes, but he doesn’t give in just like that, squirming like an eel to flip them back over and biting at Jaebeom’s lips and tongue in retaliation.

“You’ll need to do better than that.” He growls into Jaebeom’s mouth, rumbling from deep in his chest. Jaebeom figured as much and came prepared:

“Please?” He asks, soft and desperate and mostly calculated; Jinyoung can clearly tell when he lifts up with a wicked smirk. 

“A trade then,” he murmurs, “you’ll just owe me a favour.” He traces fingertips down the side of Jaebeom’s face, slow like he’s committing the shape of it to memory. Jaebeom gulps - owing a faery a favour, even one like this, even Jinyoung, is dangerous.

“What kind of favour would you want from me?” He whispers. Jinyoung’s smirk splits into a grin and his eyes settle onto a deep warm amber; he cups Jaebeom’s cheek, pressing a thumb to his wet lips until they part then swiping along the lower.

“Nothing just yet. Nothing terrible.” He breathes, swaying down for another lingering kiss. Jaebeom tries to follow when he sits up but Jinyoung holds him down, head cocked and a smug question in his eyes. He’s content to wait too, just holding him still and grabbing his wrists when he tries to move, reach for him, anything. Frustrated and growing cold all over again, Jaebeom slumps and glowers up at his self-satisfied smile.

“Fine.” He mutters, reaching up to grab Jinyoung’s hair and drag him down again when he’s allowed to move again. This time when he gets Jinyoung beneath him, he doesn’t wriggle, reaching for him and purring into his mouth like a satisfied cat. Jaebeom finds himself shivering, his body cooling down again, only warm where his skin touches Jinyoung’s; he claws Jinyoung's shirt off, ripping his own over his head to moan headily at the feeling of skin against skin. Jinyoung's trousers seem to just dissolve and he wraps both legs tight around Jaebeom's waist, squeezing the air from his lungs.

"Come along then, darling," he rasps, palms dragging up the length of Jaebeom's back to cup his face, "show me what you can do." Jaebeom bares his teeth in a grin and leans down to kiss him again.

He does a good enough job if Jinyoung's delighted cries are any clue, writhing beneath him, achingly tight around him and scratching down his back with claws sharp enough to draw blood. Jaebeom finds he doesn't mind, the pain just a drop in the ocean of sensation washing over him and besides, once the wave ebbs enough for him to feel it, Jinyoung's already flipped them back over, Jaebeom on his front and the hot length of him pressed against his back. Purring filth into his ear, Jinyoung gives back as good as he got, Jaebeom crying and begging as he's stuffed full of Jinyoung's fingers with his hands pinned to the bed, first by that invisible force he likes to use and later by a twisting pair of vines that snake across the bed to lock his wrists together.

Things start to blur by the time Jinyoung fucks him again, memories coming in chunks and pieces. Jaebeom remembers pleading even after Jinyoung told him to hush, only for him to be quieted forcefully by something, thick and long and covered in some sweet sap - another vine, Jaebeom realises dimly - pushing into his mouth. Jinyoung had cooed, stroking his back and pressing occasional kisses to his neck, a sharp counterpoint to his viciously rough fucking. Jaebeom knows he came more than once, more than he could count, and that Jinyoung did too, growling and moaning through each one and that afterwards, he'd tenderly cleaned and soothed the scratches on Jaebeom's back, the bruises on his wrists and the lip he'd split biting it before his mouth had been occupied. The stickiness he'd left behind however, filling and covering Jaebeom's ass, he didn't touch, no matter how many times Jaebeom sluggishly and clumsily nudged him towards it

"A Prince has to mark his property, darling." Was all the explanation Jaebeom got. Dazed and hazy, Jaebeom had flushed at the sentiment, a warm instinctual pleasure bubbling in his belly at being addressed such, though the rational parts of him bristle at it in equal measure. He isn't a thing to be owned, he thinks to himself as he teeters on the edge of sleep, but if he  _ was _ , he wouldn't  _ mind _ being Jinyoung's. He'd certainly like to be Jinyoung's in a more equal sense, such that Jinyoung would be  _ his _ too in whatever small way he could be.

Jaebeom never fully falls asleep, drifting on the edge of consciousness for a while. He's pleasantly warm again, wrapped in it like a blanket, but this time Jinyoung's not here. Jaebeom's not sure where he's gone, but he misses him, vaguely. Everything feels vague for a long while, long enough for the sky above to darken into inky blue. Huge physalis plants with gently glowing fruits the size of Jaebeom's head fill the room with a soft amber light. Jaebeom stares up at the sky; there's no moon, but it's full of stars. Alien stars, out of place, no constellations Jaebeom can recognise.

He stares up at them for a while before his senses return more fully, awareness trickling back in. He sits up, grabbing handfuls of smooth silk and taking a deep breath, the air thick with honeysuckle and violets. Slowly, gingerly, he shuffles to the edge of the bed, wincing when his feet hit the floor - it's cool, soft grass springing under his soles but his back doesn't want any weight on it just yet. But there's noise, whispering, coming from beyond the vine curtain and Jaebeom wants to know what's going on. He staggers forth, gratefully clutching at the thick green ropes when he reaches them, but pausing before pulling them aside.

“-isn’t following the rules.” A distressed voice, familiar but Jaebeom can’t place it yet.

“There’s nothing you can do. His Highness will do as he pleases, he’s aware of the consequences he’s inviting-” This voice calmer but dark and grim.

“But this is- she won’t allow it. I’m delaying her as best I can but-” Brow furrowed, Jaebeom pulls the vines aside.

"Oh!" Comes the first voice in a shocked squeak.

"Hello." Comes the other, more amused than surprised. Eyes still thick with near-sleep, Jaebeom blinks hard a few times and squints; Jackson and Youngjae, draped over branches twisted into vague chairs, stare back, the former wide-eyed and the latter with pursed lips, white eyes dragging down the length of Jaebeom's body. "Well, I suppose I see what all of Jinyoung's fuss is about." He says, chin plopping against his fist. Jaebeom frowns and glances down as Jackson splutters a snicker behind a clawed hand; it's with a surprising lack of embarrassment that he realises he's still not only naked but messy with Jinyoung's cum. He lifts his head again and narrows his eyes at the giggling pair.

"What are you doing here?" He asks, barely recognising his voice, raspy and hoarse and somehow  _ different _ . Jackson shifts onto his belly, legs kicking in the air.

"Jinyoungie asked us to watch you." He says, a glint in his eyes. 

"He has business with the other Courts. He'll be back soon enough." Youngjae adds. He blinks, normally, lids sliding up and down, but then again, a translucent membrane slicing horizontally across, like a lizard.

“What were you talking about?” Jaebeom tries to ask but a panicked shadow passes over Jackson’s face and he interjects before he can say more.

"Would you like to bathe?" He asks, desperate but trying to appear chipper, his chin on his cupped hands.

“Can I?” Jaebeom asks; he’s not seen a bathroom, but he hasn’t been looking that hard. He’s not particularly bothered either way. He’s not even worried about being left in the care of two fae almost-strangers, which is in itself a little unsettling; he knows, abstractly, that he should be scared or at least wary, but this just feels- normal. Comfortable, even, like he’s been doing this forever, like he’s been here his whole life. He just wants to know what they were talking about, but Jackson smiles at him, baring more teeth than should be able to fit into his mouth; he quickly hops to his feet and hurries over, gesturing back through the vines. Jaebeom steps back, watching him come through and Youngjae lazily clamber to his own feet. 

“Here.” Jackson says, sauntering over to a mess of ivy clustering an enormous tree beside a rhododendron bush; he flicks a leaf and the whole plant shivers and slowly peels back from a doorway ringed with balsam flowers carved through the trunk. Jackson waves him through with a flourish and a giggle from Youngjae but Jaebeom ignores it, walking past to step through the doorway. The cloying soapy scent of the balsam within hangs thick in the air as Jaebeom emerges through the short woody corridor into an entirely separate room. A huge marble-tiled pool takes up the floor, filled by a cascading waterfall at the far left and running out through a narrow channel to the right. Thin pillars hold up the glass ceiling, covered in knotted vines and variegated ivy and sweet peas close to the bottom and a few water lilies, pale pink and pure white, float on the surface of the water.

Jaebeom stares, open-mouthed, long enough to elicit a couple of snickers from behind him; he almost glances back at them but decides against it - no point encouraging them - in favour of stepping forwards to the steps leading into the pool. The water is pleasantly warm and scented of bergamot and lavender with a sharp edge of something citrusy. The steps lead him deeper until he reaches the middle of the pool, the water coming to his armpits; there’s a ledge on the far side, the perfect height to sit down and submerge himself to his shoulders. 

Jackson and Youngjae don’t leave, the former skipping forwards to plop down onto the edge of the pool, legs and feet, bare below the knee, kicking through the water while the latter props himself against a wall. Jaebeom sighs and shuts his eyes, head tipping back to lean against the tiles. He still feels strange, vague and faraway, the warmth of the water, warmer than his already cooling body, lulling him into a haze halfway between waking and sleeping. 

“Why did Jinyoung pick me?” Jaebeom finds himself mumbling. There’s a moment of stunned silence before a crowing laugh from Youngjae splits it. Jackson chuckles squeakily too, splashing with his feet.

“You’d have to ask him that.” He says slyly. Jaebeom huffs, wrinkling his nose and dragging his hands back and forth through the water.

“I don’t think any of  _ this  _ hurt-” Jaebeom jolts, eyes snapping open at a surprise touch to his cheek; Youngjae, bent over him, laughs, loud and melodic- “his Highness does have such a weakness for pretty things.” Jackson snickers behind his hand as Jaebeom slumps back into the water and glowers up at Youngjae.

“I’m being serious.” Jaebeom mutters, head thudding back against the edge of the pool. Youngjae cocks an eyebrow and bares sharp teeth in an unnerving smile.

“So am I.” He says and, when Jaebeom blinks, he’s gone again, back over behind Jackson with both arms draped over his shoulders. “For anything more, you’ll have to ask his Highness.” He murmurs. Jackson smiles weakly, then pats Youngjae’s hand. Shaking his head, Jaebeom shuts his eyes, a frustrated frown on his forehead.

No one says anything after that. Jaebeom’s glare slowly smoothes away, all of his muscles relaxing in the warm water. He feels heavy, so heavy he swears his body wouldn’t float if he tried. He slides a little deeper, the back of his neck wet and the water lapping at his chin, but it doesn’t feel right; his face feels freezing, just like before, when nothing but Jinyoung could warm him up again.

He takes a deep breath and sinks below the surface. Immediately he feels better, everything warm now, settling deep into his bones. The water feels so lovely, keeping him at the perfect temperature and washing around him as though dragging all his worries away with the current. Dimly, he notes that he’s still sinking, until he’s sat cross-legged on the bottom of the pool. 

He opens his eyes. It’s dark, darker than it should be at the bottom of the bath, oversized as it may be, and he can see too clearly, none of the usual blur of trying to look around underwater. He looks up, hair swirling around his head. The surface twinkles above him, far, far out of reach. He waits for fear to surface, fear of drowning, fear of dying, but it never does. His lungs don’t even protest, though he’s been holding his breath for far longer than thirty seconds, closer to a minute, two even. 

He looks down at himself, lifts his hands from the marble floor, turns them over and spreads his fingers. His hands, but not, tinged green from the weak light and just as Jaebeom turns them over, it’s as though there’s something stretched between his fingers, thin and membranous. Something else painted on his skin, an image moving, writhing in the corner of his eye. The fear still doesn’t hit, nor does the need for air, but the fact that they don’t is more unnerving than if they did. Jaebeom shifts, unfolding his legs to kick up from the bottom of the pool and strike for the surface.

His head breaks into air in barely a second. Hair plastered to his head, he gasps and falls back under, feet slipping on the marble tiles that have rushed to meet him. This time he splutters, wheezing and coughing as his lungs protest taking on water, scrambling backwards to find the edge and cling to it. 

Until he’s steadied by a pair of hands on his shoulders, warm and familiar by now; Jinyoung, his fine amber robes soaked through and clinging to his body, smiles at him, indulgent and fond. Jaebeom clings to his arms, shoving his sodden hair from his eyes and gasping his breath back and squeaking, shoving in token protest at being abruptly kissed and dragged into a close embrace. Jinyoung relents, giggling into the kisses he presses to Jaebeom’s jaw instead and Jaebeom shuts his eyes again, slumping into his arms and throwing both arms around him.

“What is happening to me?” He rasps into Jinyoung’s shoulder. He doesn’t expect an answer, but shockingly, he gets one:

“Are you sure you want to know?” He whispers, lips dragging against Jaebeom’s cheek. Jaebeom’s eyes snap open again and he stares out over the room in disbelief.

“Yes.” He says without needing to think. Knowing is always better than not. Jinyoung hums and hides a smile against his cheek.

“Then ask, and I will tell you.” He whispers. Jaebeom pulls away to gape at Jinyoung. 

“Then tell me,” he insists, “tell me what’s- what’s happening. Why I’m- seeing things a-and staying glamoured and why I’m here!” Jinyoung smiles, soft and sweet, both warm palms cupping Jaebeom’s face. 

“Have you ever wondered where your sight comes from?” He whispers, thumbs brushing underneath Jaebeom’s eyes; he closes them reflexively, shivering when Jinyoung chuckles and presses his thumb to the moles over his left. 

“Of course I have,” Jaebeom starts impatiently, “but what-” He stops with a disgruntled huff when Jinyoung’s hands slide lower to cross his thumbs over his lips. Jinyoung’s smiling fondly at him when he opens his eyes again, shifting eyes creased sweetly at the corners.

“The veil belongs to the Fair Folk. Only Fair Folk can see beyond it.” He says it so evenly, so matter-of-fact that Jaebeom almost doesn’t register what exactly he’s saying. But then when he thinks, really hears the words, he freezes, ice splintering through him even with the warmth of the water and Jinyoung’s hands against him.

“No,” Jaebeom stutters, “no. No that’s not- that’s not right.” He rips himself free, staggering backwards through the water. Jinyoung watches him go, a sadistically delighted twinkle in his eye. “I’m not a f- I’m not one of the Fair Folk. I’m human. You’re wrong.” He spits, curling in on himself; now he feels exposed, skin crawling under Jinyoung’s gaze. Shivering, knees trembling under the weight that seems to have settled onto his shoulders, Jaebeom can’t meet his eyes.

“No, you aren’t one of us. Not yet.” Jinyoung murmurs. “But you’re changing. You can feel it, can’t you?” His voice stays low. The water ripples towards him and Jaebeom can feel he’s taken a step closer, but he doesn’t lift his head, shaking it quickly even though it’s a lie. He can feel it. It makes a sickening sort of sense. “Your sight comes from your blood. Fair blood, passed down from parent to child over a hundred generations. And what is born of fair blood,” his voice drops, barely a whisper, a ghost of a touch against his hair; Jaebeom stares at his own rippling reflection, watching his own wide terrified eyes close, “will always find the courts.” His reflection opens its eyes, glowing ever so faintly deep below in the water, and smiles.

Jaebeom’s knees buckle. He crashes into the water and Jinyoung makes no move to catch him. 

He sinks. The pool has no bottom and he’s free-falling, lungs bursting. He twists, frantically groping, clawing at empty water. He stares, hopelessly, up at the faraway surface, the alien stars above it twinkling far too bright. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading!! hope u enjoyed!! lmk your thoughts down below or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles)!!


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends welcome back !! its content warning time: heed the new tag, this chapter contains, basically, jaebeom having something of a breakdown, with elements of panic attacks and references to self-harm and suicide - they're brief, but please if you're in a delicate place or its just not something you want to see, feel free to skip this chapter or skip on if u read it and start feeling bad!! there is also a semi-descriptive account of vomiting, so be aware of that too!! please take care of yourselves!!! I'll put a summary of the chapter in the notes at the end in case anyone wants to skip but not know what they missed <3
> 
> but!! onto the chapter!! your song for this week is [unlike pluto - stay and decay](https://youtu.be/gbt250qeTbw) its suuuuper good and really fits this chapter so please check it out!! thanks guys!!

Jaebeom wakes as he tumbles out of bed, the covers dragged on top of him by his desperate attempts to stop himself falling. He kicks them off, gasping in great lungfuls of air and staring in disbelief at the ceiling. He’s drenched in water, dripping onto the carpet, and freezing cold now he takes an inventory of himself, freezing and hyperventilating and, yes, naked. He squeezes his eyes shut, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyelids and choking down the panicked cries that want to bubble up out of him.

Nothing feels real anymore. None of this should be happening. Painfully, Jaebeom sits up, dragging the duvet into his lap and bundling himself in it, burying his face into the damp fabric to muffle wracking sobs into it.

Jinyoung can’t be right. He can’t be; Jaebeom is  _ human, _ his whole family is human, there’s no faery blood  _ anywhere  _ in him. It’s not possible, there must be some other explanation, like he’s under some magic, or just plain going insane. It can’t be true.

But then he remembers all of the  _ things  _ happening to him. Not just affecting him, his mind, his fucking core body temperature, but other people, their eyes glazing and sliding past him like he’s not there. So he knows, in his heart of hearts he  _ knows _ that Jinyoung’s right. He  _ is  _ changing, slowly but surely becoming something else. 

A thought spears through him, tearing and ripping. Jaebeom scrambles upright, lunging for his chest of drawers. He rips open the top one, digging through to find the box in which he keeps his iron rings. Stumbling backwards to plop down onto the edge of his mattress, he pulls it open, staring down anxiously at the set, each ring nestled into navy velvet. He moves before he can overthink, plucking one of them free and cradling it in his palm.

It’s painfully hot, like he’s holding a branding iron; swearing, he drops it back into the box and snaps the lid shut. Wide eyes filling with prickling tears, he opens his fist again, biting hard on his lip when he sees a perfect red circle on his palm, livid and stinging. He sets the box aside, fingers twisting back into a fist, drops his forehead onto the heels of his hands and tries to choke his tears into something quiet. 

Jaebeom doesn’t leave the house for three days. He can barely even bring himself to look out the windows for two, pulling all of the curtains tight shut and staying away from them. He barely eats, all his food tasting strange and unappetising no matter what he tries. He’s freezing cold all the time, just growing colder now when he wistfully remembers the warmth of Jinyoung’s hands, unable to warm himself even in a steaming shower - he almost poured boiling water over his hands, just to see if that would be enough, but caught himself just as the kettle stopped boiling. He barely sleeps, plagued with wonderful and terrible dreams of soft shifting eyes and sweet touches; he wakes from every confused tangle achingly hard and full of miserable longing, but he daren’t leave to find the one he’s longing for. This is the only place he has left, the only place Jinyoung can’t come in; he needs to think, to weigh up options but he can’t  _ do  _ that around Jinyoung. He’s too much, too distracting and alluring that even now, even when he’s  _ not  _ here, Jaebeom finds himself losing hours to daydreams about the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes and the delicate curve of his waist and the cruel hidden strength in his hands. 

No, he needs time. He needs to think. He keeps telling himself this, though his resolve weakens with each day, every time he peeks out his bedroom window on the third to see Mark or Youngjae or Jackson waiting patiently in the street below. He always hides away again before they spot him, but he’s sure they know he’s looking. 

Jaebeom doesn’t know what to do. He feels sick even considering his options, limited as they are; he can cut Jinyoung out of his life and suffer like this, in this withdrawn freezing hell, for however long it takes for him to return to normal - if he ever does - or he can continue whatever this is between them and- he’s not even sure. Turn into a faery? Can that even happen? He’s spent hours staring at himself, studying his reflection, but nothing ever changes except the shadows under his eyes darkening with each day. He still looks like himself, but something nags at him, reminding him of all of the strange shifts he’s been seeing up to now. The mark Jinyoung left on his throat has finally started to fade, from livid purple to a lighter mauve then through to yellow and it’s no longer sore, just a little sensitive to the touch. Jaebeom’s a little disappointed to see it go and at the same time horrified at his own disappointment.

Bambam has been his one source of normality through the last few days. Once he’d recovered, dried himself off after his near drowning, put himself back together a little, he’d texted him, not wanting him to worry. He’d been glad to hear from him then dismayed to learn that Jaebeom is sick - he’s  _ not _ , at least not in the traditional sense, but considering Bambam’s previous concern it’s as good an excuse as any - and he’d even offered to bring Jaebeom food and keep him company but he’d declined in a panic, not sure he’d be able to hide all of his preoccupation. But even just his messages have been a lifeline, a reminder that there is a world outside of all of this madness.

Eventually though, Jaebeom can’t put off going outside any longer. He’s almost out of food - it may taste wrong, but he still gets hungry - and he’s going stir-crazy cooped up in his tiny flat. So he waits until midday, until he peeks out of the curtain and sees only Yugyeom, dressed for the cold in a thick fur-lined cloak, waiting below, then gets dressed, pulls some boots on and bundles himself up in layers, scarf, gloves and hat in a futile attempt to warm up. 

It’s cold outside, proper cold. It’s nearly October and a real autumn chill hangs in the air. Jaebeom sighs as he steps outside, eyeing Yugyeom warily when he perks up; his breath doesn’t cloud, the inside of his lungs a similar temperature to the outside air. Yugyeom however, billows steam with each breath, puffed out through his nervous smile. 

“His Highness told you, didn’t he?” Yugyeom asks, barely a whisper, as Jaebeom approaches the gate. Jaebeom freezes, staring him dead in the eye; he doesn’t look away, but his shoulders shrink down a touch. “I couldn’t say anything. It’s against the rules. None of us could, but no one else- would have considered telling you anyway.” He mumbles, guilt crossing his face. 

“Why did you?” Jaebeom grits out. Yugyeom shrinks a little more.

“Because I was a human like you. I could see too. Before- before I- fell into a den. And couldn’t find my way out again.” His gaze keeps darting away guiltily, a bottomless sorrow staining his voice. Jaebeom’s heart squeezes, hair on the back of his neck standing up.

“This- can it be reversed? If I want- to stay human?” He stutters, teeth chattering but this time not from the cold. Yugyeom looks grave, but he slowly nods his head.

“If you stay away from Jinyoung. From all of the Fair Folk. But that- that will be hard. Jinyoung won’t stay away from you.” He says softly, guiltily like it’s somehow his fault. Jaebeom rubs his eyes, dragging his palm down the side of his face. 

“He said- he said he’d leave. If I asked him to.” Jaebeom says hopelessly. Yugyeom’s sad eyes soften.

“He won’t. Not now. Not while he thinks-” he stops, shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes as he looks at the floor- “he won’t leave you alone. And you don’t want him to.” Jaebeom looks away to the side, teeth gritted, the truth of it sickly on his tongue; he  _ doesn’t _ want him to. But he also doesn’t want to end up- becoming a faery or whatever it is that’s happening to him. Furiously, he kicks the gate open, stomping through and rounding on Yugyeom, who just stares at him sadly.

“I- I need to think. And I can’t- with him around. Tell him that-” Jaebeom stutters to a stop when Yugyeom nods, lifting a clenched fist between them.

“His Highness is willing to wait,” he murmurs, “when you wish to see him, put this on your tongue and let it melt.” His fingers open and in his palm sits a spun sugar iris, impossibly delicate and life-like. Jaebeom eyes it warily for a moment before very gingerly taking it, letting Yugyeom tip it out into his cupped hand. “Until then, he will leave you be.” Jaebeom looks up at him, the crease to his forehead and the way he keeps avoiding Jaebeom’s gaze.

“What aren’t you telling me?” He sighs, not expecting an answer and Yugyeom doesn’t give him one, just smiling tightly and dipping into a bow. 

“Be careful, Jaebeom.” Is all he says before turning on his heel in a flurry of soft brown cloak, head down and shoulders hunched against the chill. Already cold to the bone, Jaebeom looks down at the flower in his hand. He’s sorely tempted just to crush it, cast it to the floor and be done with all of this, but he doesn’t. No, he turns around, cradling it like it were spun from gold rather than sugar as he lets himself back into his flat. He puts it in a little tupperware box, nice and safe. 

He considers leaving it in the fridge, turning away from it and leaving it for another time but for now, he zips it into his coat pocket, leaving the flat again and hurrying out into the street. Now he has it, he’s sorely tempted to just use it, get Jinyoung close to him again so he can stop feeling so  _ cold _ , but he needs time, he really does. He tells himself this, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave it behind, just in case. Instead, he heads into campus, for the library and a computer. All of this insanity aside, he’s still a human being enrolled at a university and his work isn’t going to do itself. 

Hours later and what feels like barely steps ahead of where he was, Jaebeom trudges into his regular coffee shop. Bambam’s not at the counter, not due to work for a while, but Jaebeom needs something hot nonetheless. He very nearly orders just boiling water - what’s the point of drinking something else that’ll just taste horrible and bitter - but reconsiders, instead getting a hot chocolate and a handful of sugar packets. The barista gives him an odd look when he picks them up, but he ignores them, keeping his head down and settling into his booth. 

He plucks the lid off the takeaway cup, dumping four packets’ worth of sugar straight into it. Morbidly curious, he takes a fifth, rips it open and pours it directly into his mouth. He almost gags but forces himself not to spit it out into the napkin he presses to his mouth in fear he’ll be sick; he can taste the sweetness of it but it somehow tastes wrong, like its gone off or something, the sickliness of rot clinging to his mouth when he manages to swallow and coughs into the napkin. He glances up and around anxiously but thankfully no one is looking in his direction. 

Glaring suspiciously at the hot chocolate he really no longer wants, Jaebeom sighs and drops his head into his hands. Not only is he freezing cold, miserable, exhausted, wishing he had just brought Jinyoung to him as soon as he got the chance, he now can’t eat or drink anything without feeling fucking sick. Why of all people did Jinyoung pick him? What’s so special about him? He can’t be the only human - hah, human for now, a despondent part of him scoffs - able to see through the veil, in fact Jinyoung himself had implied that it’s just something that happens. So why, of everyone, did Jinyoung pick him?

A thud and a heavy sigh startles Jaebeom from his thoughts; his head snaps up, eyes wide, to see a woman in a business suit dropping a briefcase into the seat beside her, a tall reusable takeaway cup set in front of her. Jaebeom gapes at her in disbelief, but she takes no notice of him, eyes sliding right past him when he pointedly coughs.

Only for fresh ice to spear through him; all of the blood draining from his head to leave the room spinning around him, Jaebeom leans forwards, waving a hand inches from her face. She doesn’t react, just glancing down at Jaebeom’s cup with the vaguest curiosity before pulling out her phone. Sick, lightheaded, Jaebeom scrambles to his feet, backing away from the table in horror. She still doesn’t notice.

He full on smacks into someone, sending them stumbling into a table. He whirls, automatically apologising, but the person - another student, bags under his eyes and a heavy rucksack on his back - doesn’t even glance at him, looking around in confusion before smiling sheepishly at the girl behind the counter staring quizzically at him. Presumably confused about how he’d stumbled over nothing.

Panic rising, vision blurring with tears, filling up his eyes and spilling cold down his cheeks, Jaebeom clamps a hand over his mouth and staggers out of the shop, pushing through the door; the wind catches it, blowing through the shop with a chorus of squawks and shocked laughter resounding after it as hair and papers and empty cups are blown all over the place. Jaebeom sprints away, shoving past people and not glancing back when they cry out in alarm, shock, wondering  _ what _ just shoved them.

Once he’s away, at the intersection of the road before his turn to go home, he stops, staggers into a wall, doubles over and vomits, voiding his already empty stomach, bile burning the back of his throat, gagging and spitting onto the pavement. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, staring down at the splatter; he covers his mouth again as he bursts into hysterical laughter - how strange that must have looked, vomit appearing out of nowhere onto the floor. Unless that’s invisible too, maybe anything that comes from him is. Legs jelly, Jaebeom staggers forwards again. He’s still crying, but he can’t stop laughing either.

The level crossing ahead on the intersection turns, the green man flashing and beeping insistently. Jaebeom stares up at it then back down at the cars waiting to go, stumbling forwards into the road and crossing; he wonders morbidly what would happen if he stepped into traffic. The drivers can’t see him, they’d just keep driving. What would happen if one hit him? Faeries have mass, they aren’t noncorporeal, it would hit him. Would he die? Can he even die anymore? Would there be any trace of him to mundane humanity, blood or body, or would he just stay invisible, the only evidence a dent in a car bumper? He’s not sure, but he finds himself laughing harder at the thought, the tiniest bit tempted to just stay put in the middle of the road to find out what would happen, but he doesn’t. He stumbles to the other side, over to the little park and the trees lining it, collapsing down onto his knees on the grass then turning so his back is against the bark of the nearest. 

It’s getting cold. His laughter slowly subsides, dissolving into exhausted, silent tears. Jaebeom stares up at the sky, turbulent and stormy grey. It looks like rain. Everyone else seems to think so, walking past wearing waterproof coats or carrying closed umbrellas. It’s not a good umbrella day. Too windy.

No one looks at him. Jaebeom stays there, sat against a tree right beside the street, for hours. He watches the sky darken, angry and roiling, until the heavens finally open. There’s no build up, the rain coming down in a sheet all at once. Jaebeom’s drenched in seconds even under the slight shelter of the tree, hair plastered flat to his head and his clothes sodden and heavy, pressing him into the earth. He feels rooted, like he could bury his fingers in the soil and they’d start sprouting downwards, like the grass could grow up through him.

Jaebeom shuts his eyes, rain pattering on his eyelids. It’s warm. His clothes are too. Even the wind whipping past against his soaked skin feels warm. Everything feels warm in comparison to himself; he’s frozen, like his limbs would crack and shatter if he moves them, but none of that warmth transfers into him, like he’s some heatsink, absolute zero, swallowing any warmth, any vibration, always hungry for more but never moving off the baseline. His heart slows, each beat drawn out and difficult like his cold blood has started to congeal.

He’s so tired. Everything feels so heavy, like his body really has frozen and cemented to the earth. It takes a herculean effort to just open his eyes again but he gradually levers them open. The rain is still pouring, but it’s dark besides that. Night has fallen, the thick quiet of early morning settled over the street. Jaebeom could have sworn he just closed his eyes for a few minutes. 

He lifts his head. Looks down at himself; soaked through to the skin, fallen leaves, what should be reds and browns turning orange-stained shades of grey in the street lights, settled over his body. He lifts a hand, staring down at it. There’s something on his skin, a faint outline of something. A bud on the back of his hand, branched off a frost-gilded vine snaked around his wrist, ever so faint. It moves as he watches with a dull curiosity, the vine shifting a little higher onto his wrist and the bud splitting, beginning to flower. Jaebeom closes his eyes, counts to ten, then opens them again. It’s still there, half-open now. It looks like an anemone, white petals folding out before his eyes.  _ Forsaken _ , a voice at the back of his head supplies. Jaebeom doesn’t quite recognise it; it’s his own voice, but not. Shifted, overlapping itself. Odd, but somehow familiar,  _ right _ . Like the voice he remembers, the one he thinks he should be hearing, is the one that’s wrong. 

Everything feels far away, less pressing than it should. Even the cold starts to feel nice, natural, no longer overbearing and awful. He still wishes for warmth, but wistfully rather than desperately, like it’s a gift not a necessity. The thought of Jinyoung feels much the same when it drifts across his mind, that clawing withdrawal melting into something smaller, sweeter. Just a wish, not a need. A smouldering one, flickering and sparking and aching deep in his chest, but nothing as base, not a sharp craving but an eager want.

Jaebeom’s head falls back to the bark. It’s warmer than him, warmer than the ground, the wind, the rain. He reaches back, pressing a palm to the trunk; something pulses beneath it, a heartbeat, steady and strong and slow. Head aching and heavy, he looks up at the branches, the whispering leaves far above, and smiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so for anyone that skipped, here's this chapter in summary: jaebeom wakes up drenched after falling into the water at the end of the last chapter. He's not very happy, having a bit of a panic attack unable to believe what Jinyoung told him about him becoming a faery, but he also finds that it makes sense; he then goes to get one of his iron rings and is dismayed to find that it burns him when he touches it. He spends a few days basically hiding, with Jinyoung's faery friends waiting in the street for him to emerge from his house - eating tastes wrong, he's always cold, he's having trouble sleeping but he still wishes he could see Jinyoung, despite not wanting to become a faery. When he eventually leaves, Yugyeom gives him a sugar flower to tell Jinyoung when he wants to see him again (since he said he didn't want to so he could think clearly) and Jaebeom goes off to do uni things despite thinking Yugyeom, who revealed to him he knew what was happening to jaebeom since he used to be a human with the sight that got caught in a faery den and transformed but couldn't say anything because its against the rules, is still not telling him the whole truth. He goes to a coffee shop, where he becomes invisible again, to the extent that he can bump into people and they don't see him; this sets off a big panic attack and he books it away, eventually coming to a stop under a tree and kind of zoning out for like a day or so, during which he starts feeling a bit better about the cold, wanting to see Jinyoung again but in a less craving withdrawal way and feeling the heartbeat of a tree behind him and that's how it ends!! 
> 
> thank you for reading!!! I really hope you're all enjoying this fic still, this chapter was fun and sad to write at the same time :( poor jaeb huh... as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts!! hmu down below or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles)!! thank you!!!


	8. Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> greetings fronds apologies for the delay!! sadly, this may become a more frequent occurrence since i'm back at uni for a new course so,,, i'm very busy :') but i'll do my best to update weekly, so thank you for understanding!! we're back at it again with the sexy times in this chapter and I have 2 songs for u this week!! the first is [rune and besomorph - myself again feat. cluda](https://youtu.be/wPe0gJU9lw0) and the second is [vosai x riell - get my way](https://youtu.be/pK933AXMK_4); they fit different povs if u listen to them so :^) please do hehehe and come tell me what u think of them in the comments!!

Jaebeom’s not sure how long he stays there, staring up at the changing sky through the leaves of the tree above him. It’s beyond morning before he thaws enough to move, limbs cracking and popping like ice under the heel of a boot. He stands up, wobbling like a newborn calf, almost collapsing back against the tree; he can’t feel its heartbeat anymore, but he knows it’s still there.

He feels different. Not dramatically so, not so different he can’t recognise himself, but enough. He feels calmer, more content to let whatever is happening to him happen. Everything has settled into place, into grooves made for all these new feelings and experiences, grooves before now he’d never really noticed but that he knows have always been there. He doesn’t feel like a faery, but he’s coming to realise that maybe, once he does, he’ll know what to do. His fear has frozen, crystallised into glass and shattered; the fragments are still there, but in more manageable chunks. He can pick them apart, tell what exactly it is he’s afraid of and think about them separately, rather than drown in an ocean of many-sourced terror. He’s afraid of changing, afraid of turning into someone he doesn’t recognise, afraid of the Courts and the Fair Folk as a whole, but each fear alone is small, compliant, tameable. 

Jaebeom steps onto the pavement and heads towards his home. He’s tired, bone deep and heavy; whatever he was doing sat against that tree was enlightening, but not restful. He aches, craving sleep, trudging and stumbling slowly through the morning streets. No one glances at him, a couple of people brushing past so close their sleeves touch, but it doesn’t incite the same panic as yesterday. It’s still unnerving and Jaebeom’s not sure he  _ likes  _ it, but at least he gets it now and the unease feels distant, faraway and little concern. And he thinks, dimly hopeful, he might be able to change it. There’s a new little  _ bump _ , for lack of a better term, in the recesses of his mind; its hard and sparkling, pins and needles tingling down his spine when he mentally prods and examines it. It doesn’t give way, but it feels like it will soon and Jaebeom somehow instinctively knows what it is: magic. This is from where glamours come, from where all the Fair Folk’s shifting whispering power stems. It’s a little strange to think about using it himself. 

He stumbles into his flat, kicking off his shoes, dragging off his coat and fishing the box from his pocket; the sugar iris inside sparkles in the sunlight filtering through the window. Jaebeom smiles; he’s looking forward to seeing Jinyoung again, to feeling warm again, but the thought of him really doesn’t have the same drugging hold as before. He sets it down on his bedside table and strips down to his underwear, flopping into bed and closing his eyes with a sigh. His phone chimes, still stashed in his jeans pocket, but he ignores it.

For the first time in weeks, Jaebeom doesn’t dream.

It’s dark again when he wakes. Bleary, Jaebeom sits up, rubs sleep from his eyes and peers down at his hands. The outlined vines and flowers are still there, but he feels  _ better _ . He feels  _ normal _ , more like himself than he did walking home - he can now see that he was still out of it, dazed and confused despite the contentment settled over him. But now he feels better, calmer and less dazed; he’s scared again, but in a genuinely manageable way this time, not just thanks to some strange haze muting it into nothing. All of this is weird and unbelievable and scary, but he finally feels like he’s treading water instead of drowning. 

He stands up and heads for the bathroom, stretching his arms over his head as he goes. He pauses just before he enters though, fingers trembling on the pull cord for the light. He knows there’s inked flowers on his hands, snaking up his arms, more light outlines he’s glimpsed on his chest and legs, but his heart’s in his throat at the thought of seeing it all in a mirror.

Swallowing thickly, he pulls on the cord. His reflection stares back, pale-faced and afraid, but still, for the most part, himself. The tattoos on his skin are so faint in the light he can only see them when they shift and writhe, in the comparison before and after; there are leaves inked across his chest, fluttering in an imaginary breeze, a cluster of pale pink bell-shaped flowers drooping over his left shoulder, a deep burgundy rose blossoming across his right hip beneath the waistband of his boxers, more twisting vines curling down his thighs, all of them iced, glittering with frost, shimmering if he turns even a little. Besides these, little shifts, his jaw a slightly different shape, his ears tapering into slight points, the dark brown of his irises and black of his pupils sometimes catching the light strangely and reflecting back like a cat’s when he tilts and turns his head. 

Jaebeom lets out the breath he’d been holding in an abrupt rush. Well. This could certainly be worse. There’s nothing disturbing, no exposed bones or strange appendages as of yet. So that’s something. He takes a step forwards, the bathroom door swinging shut behind him, to peer closer at his face in the mirror. There’s a white lily on the side of his neck, the stamens and tips of the petals caressing his cheek. He prods it, rubbing at the new curve to his jaw bone and shivering at the unfamiliar feeling. 

With a sigh, he turns away, shedding his pants to step into the shower. He switches on the water, expecting the initial shock of cold, but it doesn’t come. Of course it doesn’t; it’s pleasantly warm from the outset, quickly heating up to almost scalding. With a hiss, Jaebeom turns the dial down into the blue, breathing a sigh of relief when the water stops being painful. He wonders what temperature it’s actually at, how cold it is and how unpleasant it would have been only a few days ago. The vines on his skin don’t seem to like it, curling up and closing any flowers back into tight buds and all of the frost on them melting into water. Interesting, if mildly disturbing. 

Washed and dressed in jeans and an oversized checked shirt - faeries may be able to magic up fancy clothes whenever they want but Jaebeom still hasn’t figured the weird magic nodule in his mind yet - he stomps back to his bedroom and snatches up the box with the sugar flower in it. He peers closely at it, considering; he misses Jinyoung. Still not in the strange craving way he’s felt recently, just in the normal way someone would miss a friend. Or a boyfriend. His faery boyfriend, Jaebeom muses darkly, seems a little whimsical for all the horror and misdirection he’s faced. 

The urge to pluck out the flower and crush it, his own wish to see Jinyoung again be damned, resurfaces; he’s under no illusions of it actually stopping Jinyoung from coming to find him - nor, says that voice, the one that’s his but somehow not, does he actually  _ want  _ it to - but it would certainly make a point. He doesn’t though, instead turning on his heel and heading for the door, stopping to step into a pair of shoes and grab his keys and phone, before heading out into the street. It’s warm outside, or rather, warm compared to Jaebeom; his breath still doesn’t mist in the air and condensation starts to bead on the inside of the door latch when he touches it. 

He encounters an unforeseen obstacle in the form of the front gate; once a beacon of hope and protection in all its wrought iron glory, it now stands oppressive, something hot and magical crackling from it even a few steps away. Jaebeom stands rooted for a moment, wondering what to do, before he gingerly approaches, angling his face away a little as he raises a hand. 

“Fucking shit-” He spits, ripping his hand back when his fingertip so much as brushes the metal; it  _ hurts _ , hot like its been stood in a blast furnace somehow without melting and burning blackened marks onto his fingers. Carefully, he gathers up a handful of his shirt, grasping the metal through it - it’s hot, but not burning quite yet - to pull the gate open and slip through. 

His phone chimes with a call, scaring Jaebeom out of his wits. Fumbling it out of his pocket, he’s about to swipe and answer - its from Bambam - only to freeze with his thumb hovering over the button. He still can’t figure out this glamour thing, is he still invisible? Will Bambam be able to hear him? He might get worried if Jaebeom answers but doesn’t seem to say anything, but then if Jaebeom just ignores his calls he’s definitely going to get worried. Maybe worried enough to talk to the university or the police or something and  _ then _ what’s Jaebeom going to do? He’s not  _ missing,  _ he’s  _ invisible. _

Of course, before he can come to a decision, the call goes through to voicemail. Bambam doesn’t say anything, instead hanging up and, in the moments Jaebeom spends staring down at his phone blankly, calls again. This time Jaebeom just swipes; might as well give it a try.

“Hello?” He answers tentatively. Bambam huffs a deep sigh.

“Oh my god, where have you been?! I thought you’d died, last thing you said was that you weren’t feeling better and then you don’t reply for two days?!” He screeches, furious and relieved in equal measure. Jaebeom, so happy he’s able to be heard that he barely notices this, laughs. This, of course, is not very wise. “Are you laughing at me?! I’ve been worried about you asshole, I-” Bambam yells, spluttering to an indignant stop when Jaebeom blanches and starts stammering.

“No, no I’m not I’m just-” he gulps, scrambling for an excuse- “Glad. That my phone is working?” He offers. Bambam’s hum is simmering but encourages him to go on. “I- I dropped it. In the sink. It’s been- wet. Until now.” That sounds plausible enough, right? Bambam huffs.

“Did you put it in rice?” He asks, a little less angry. Jaebeom nods pointlessly.

“Yeah, yeah it dried it out and it's working again!” He says, latching onto the suggestion gratefully. Bambam hums again.

“Well, that’s good at least,” he sighs, tiredness seeping into his voice, “how are you feeling?” Jaebeom laughs again awkwardly.

“I’m getting better.” He hedges, glad when Bambam hums more happily though he’s not entirely sure about that himself. “Gonna take a few more days off though, I think.” 

“Good, you need to rest,” Bambam chirps, far brighter, “get lots of sleep and eat plenty, okay?” Jaebeom smiles sheepishly, glancing down at the sugar iris in its tupperware box.

“I’ll try.” He mumbles. The box has misted up around his fingers, wet and cool.

“Okay,” Bambam says, groaning under his breath, “well I have to go but- don’t just vanish next time, okay? Please.” Jaebeom makes an appropriately chagrined noise and Bambam sighs again. “Okay. Bye.” Jaebeom murmurs a goodbye in return before he hangs up and stashes his phone back into his pocket. He lifts the box a little higher, wiping away condensation and peering through it; the flower is still perfect, attached to a single stem and two delicate leaves. 

Jaebeom snaps the box open and tips it out into his hand. Not letting himself think too hard about it, he puts the lid back on and sets it onto the wall in front of his building before lifting his hand and dropping the flower into his mouth. 

It’s sweet. Actually sweet, with none of the strange bitterness or rot that’s come from everything else he’s tried to eat recently, sweet and floral and fizzing slightly on his tongue. He waits, as Yugyeom told him to, for it to melt, dissolving into nothing, before swallowing hard and breathing out a heavy sigh. 

There’s a dull rush and Jaebeom’s ears pop, a fresh breeze stirring his hair. He turns, looking around, to see a tear stretching between a pair of trees across the road, opening out before the huge glass doors leading into Jinyoung’s throne room. They’re shut, but glittering in the bright noonday light filtering through the tear. Jaebeom swallows thickly and crosses the street to step through onto the marble platform before them. 

A shiver ripples through him; glancing down, his clothing has changed again. No formal jacket this time, just a light white shirt open halfway down his chest tucked into sleek black trousers and more of those fancy boots, but there’s again glittering rings on his hands and fresh metal through his ears and lip and something else, something heavy hanging from his shoulders. A cloak like Jinyoung’s of leaves, but this one is soft, a white wool inner and- feathers. The outer of the cloak is entirely feathers from different birds; soft white down feathers at the top, barely longer than an inch, graduating in colour down to inky black wing feathers the length of Jaebeom’s forearm at the bottom. It’s fastened with a glittering bronze brooch, carved into the shape of an oak leaf and set with glistening amber.

A creak draws Jaebeom’s wide-eyed attention up from himself; the doors have cracked open and begin to swing aside as he watches. The hall beyond isn’t full, but it’s certainly not empty. Faeries, all shapes and sizes and impossible colours, line the rich red carpet leading to the dais at the far end, whispering and chattering at the sight of him. There’s a figure on the throne; Jaebeom keeps his eyes there as he steps inside, a tight proud defiance keeping his head high despite the muted fear bubbling in his belly.

Jinyoung, clad in a loose shirt and trousers in deep reds and browns, lounging with his thighs spread and one elbow on a woody armrest, chin on his palm and his lips curled up just a little, watches him approach. His eyes are bright, shifting colours too fast to follow, trained unwavering on Jaebeom. His cloak of reddening leaves spread out around him, jagged circlet of gold glinting in the light, a little warm flush across the bridge of his nose. Lips blush pink and pulling wider into a delighted smile the closer Jaebeom gets, he looks every bit the Prince of Autumn. Power and majesty sit well on him, a shiver running down Jaebeom’s spine when he flicks a finger and the attendants around him scatter. 

Jaebeom stops before his throne, at the bottom of the marble steps leading up to it. Smile beautiful enough to sink ships, Jinyoung studies him for a few moments, eyes dragging from the toes of Jaebeom’s boots to the top of his head, before coming back to meet his gaze. He lifts his head, hand drooping and fingers dangling for a second, before he fluidly stands and steps forward, cloak billowing around him. 

“Look at you,” he coos, striding down the steps to stop before him; in these boots, with Jinyoung barefoot, Jaebeom’s taller than him by a good couple of inches so he has to reach up to splay a hand either side of his face, curved as though to cup his cheeks but hovering just shy of touching, “fair blood suits you, Jaebeom.” His voice stays loud, ringing through the hall, but there’s a private admiring flicker in his eyes, crinkling at the corners. Flattered despite himself, Jaebeom’s lips twitch up and his cheeks prickle with a marginal warmth, though it pales in comparison to the heat radiating from Jinyoung’s hands. The crowd murmurs, interested and excited, but there’s something else too, something darker and muttered and scathing Jaebeom can’t quite make out. He instinctively turns, brow drawn into a frown, but Jinyoung catches his chin and turns his face back and Jaebeom forgets whatever he was looking for at the warmth of his hands, tingling through his whole body and weakening his knees. This time though, Jinyoung reacts too; his glittering eyes widen, lips parting on a soft little sigh before stretching into an elated grin, both hands cupping Jaebeom’s face as he takes half a step closer.

“Could we- talk? Somewhere else?” Jaebeom grits out through chattering teeth, the glowing warmth pulsing through him and sending tremors through his frozen muscles. A titter spreads through the crowd and Jinyoung’s smile shifts, warms, straddling the line between innocent and suggestive; he inclines his head.

“Of course, darling.” He murmurs, stepping backwards and turning, striding for the door beyond the throne without looking back. Jaebeom rounds the dais and follows, cloak rippling behind him. Just before the door closes behind him, he hears the hall erupt into chatter, most delighted but a few dark and ragged snarls spit profanities after him. He ignores them, following Jinyoung up the staircase to his now familiar room. It’s empty this time and Jinyoung crosses to the second throne, spinning with his arms stretched out like a gleeful child and sitting down into it. Jaebeom hesitates a little farther back, folding his arms and trying not to smile when Jinyoung pouts sweetly and beckons him closer, leaning back against the seat. “Come,” he says, low and purring, eyes creasing mirthfully when Jaebeom feels himself flush at the double meaning, “I want you close to me, Jaebeom.”

This throne isn’t on a platform, instead just flanked by flowers and low holly bushes, the seat itself larger and more reclined. Jinyoung watches like a hawk as Jaebeom approaches, hesitating before him before making a decision. It’s apparently not the decision he was expecting; his eyes widen, lips parting on a shallow gasp, when Jaebeom strides the last of the distance between them and, emboldened by something he can’t name, sits across Jinyoung’s lap, knees planted on either side of his hips and his weight settled onto Jinyoung’s thighs. Something wondering passing over his face, Jinyoung reaches up to hold Jaebeom’s face and pull him down; Jaebeom braces against the back of the living throne, eyes fluttering shut as his breath is thoroughly kissed away. Jinyoung’s hands slide into his hair, fisting tight handfuls and purring at Jaebeom’s hiss, long tongue pushing into his mouth. 

Jaebeom breaks away with a gasp when the throne, the living plant making it up, starts to pulse under his hands, throbbing with a deep resounding heartbeat. Jinyoung physically shivers, dragging Jaebeom’s head back to kiss down his throat and muffle a rough groan into his collarbone when Jaebeom squirms and shifts his hips, pressing into Jinyoung’s. One hand finds Jaebeom’s waist, pushing his hips closer into his; sharp nails dig into Jaebeom’s skin, teeth doing the same to the jut of his collarbone through his shirt. Chest heaving, Jaebeom whines on the same breath as a hiss, shoulders shifting and trying to cringe away even as one of his hands leaves the throne to tug Jinyoung closer, cupping the back of his head. Jaebeom knows he’s forgetting something, that he’d come here to talk about something important, but with every dig of Jinyoung’s teeth, every soothing lick and reverent kiss, his will to have that conversation slips away.

“Jinyoung-” Jaebeom gasps, eyes flying open at another vicious bite to his neck to stare unseeingly at the bright blue sky above- “please- please just-” He’s not sure what he’s asking for but Jinyoung moans, deep and filthy and muffled into the curve of Jaebeom’s neck. His hands drag down Jaebeom’s back to his hips, squeezing tight and pulling him closer and, his hair finally released, Jaebeom’s free to look down again, pull Jinyoung into another kiss and gasp into it at a sharp nip to his tongue, the tip of Jinyoung’s running over his lip and catching on the piercings adorning it.

“Finally,” Jinyoung rasps into his mouth, hoarse and desperate; his hands fumble between them, sharp nails shredding Jaebeom’s trousers and his own in turn, “finally, finally-” His mumbles are lost into Jaebeom’s eager kisses again, drowned by his stuttering moan when Jinyoung drags his hips closer again and takes him in hand. But he keeps talking, murmuring little praises and things Jaebeom doesn’t have the wherewithal to pick apart, not while he’s shuddering and aching and tingling all over from Jinyoung’s skin against his, blessedly warm and sure and teasing. Even when he pulls Jaebeom closer, cheek pressed to Jaebeom’s and his lips next to the shell of his ear, whispering softly into it. “You owe me a favour,” he says, “and I’d like to call it in.” Jaebeom, shattering and melting into his lap, barely registers his words, squirming and shivering and pressing as close as he can. “Say yes, Jaebeom, that’s all you have to do.” He keeps whispering it, peppering kisses against Jaebeom’s jaw and giggling into his hair when his forehead drops to Jinyoung’s bare shoulder, his shirt long ago a casualty to Jaebeom’s restless hands, with a whine; he’s stopped moving, hand stilled and just teasing enough to draw out, prolong,  _ hurt _ so sweetly. “Say yes, my darling, that’s all.” He murmurs once more.

“ _ Yes,  _ please, just-” Jaebeom begs, broken and breathless and Jinyoung, true to his word, grins into his hair and twists his wrist, flicks a thumb and Jaebeom muffles a cry into his shoulder, shaking apart and spilling into his hand, a warmth almost painful cresting through him and knocking him out for a good few seconds. 

Jinyoung’s soothing him when he resurfaces, with gentle hands and tender little kisses against any part of him he can reach. Panting, Jaebeom lifts his leaden head, whining softly when he’s immediately dragged into a kiss and clumsily reaching for Jinyoung, but his hands are intercepted and Jinyoung just purrs a laugh.

“No need,” he whispers, releasing Jaebeom’s wrists to drop his hands down to his thighs and squeeze, revelling in Jaebeom’s unconscious shiver, “besides, we have all the time in the world.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! I hope people are still enjoying this T~T please come tell me your thoughts down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! <3<3


	9. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey ho friendos we're back at it again, get ready for this fresh nonsense,,, song for this chapter is [smnm - everything](https://youtu.be/12JqqH2ubr8) it's good and appropriate for (at least part of) this chapter!!! more important notes at the end, so please pay attention to them!!!

This time, Jaebeom doesn’t wake in his bed. He wakes in Jinyoung’s, black silk sheets drawn up over him and a warm body atop him. Jinyoung isn’t asleep, lying on his belly with his chin resting on Jaebeom’s chest, silk draping his shoulders in smooth black ripples. He smiles when Jaebeom meets his eyes, a soft little crinkle to the corners.

“Hello, darling.” He murmurs, soft like he daren’t break the silence hanging over them. Except it’s not really silence, the room filled with soft sounds, distant lapping of water, chirps of grasshoppers, twittering of birds. Jaebeom, for the first time in days, feels nothing but warm, his heart pumping blood that finally feels thinner than honey; drunk on that feeling alone, he smiles, lifting a hand to run wondering fingers through Jinyoung’s soft hair.

“Hi.” He whispers, laughing shyly when Jinyoung coos and leans forwards to kiss him, his warm lips lingering and sweet like syrup. Jaebeom’s content to just float and respond, trusting Jinyoung to guide him in this, humming contentedly at the gentle hands that cup his cheeks and the weight that settles over his hips. 

Until a thought sluggishly pierces the pleasant haze hanging over him, just concerning enough that he twists his head. Jinyoung, pouting unhappily, lifts up enough to look at him, eyebrows pulling together and a question in his eyes. 

“What time is it?” He asks, dull anxiety fluttering at the back of his head; it feels like a lifetime ago that he arrived, though he hopes it’s just been a matter of hours. Jinyoung hums, sitting back against Jaebeom’s thighs and staring down at him, lips pursed and head cocked thoughtfully. 

“Time,” he murmurs, pondering, the word sticky and almost unfamiliar in his mouth, “time passes differently in the wilds.” He sounds fond, indulgent like he’s talking about a precocious but lovable child. He looks up, at the dawn-pink sky above, the brightest of the night stars still straining through the directionless light. Jaebeom stares at him, at the smooth unmarked column of his throat and the lean strength of his chest, down to the silk spilled about his slim waist. “It has not been long. Or,” he breathes a laugh, eyes twinkling as he looks down again, “maybe it has. Why do you ask?” Jaebeom, having not expected a follow-up question and caught up in staring, doesn’t answer immediately, not until a few seconds have passed and the query has filtered through his brain. Jinyoung snickers at his slack-jawed confusion, tipping his chin up with the tip of one finger.

“I just- have things to do.” He says weakly. In theory, he does have things to do, but a lot of those will become far more complicated if he remains invisible. Really, he admits to himself in a shadowed corner of his mind, he’s just nervous. Shy even. Not sure how to proceed now he’s woken up here instead of at home. Jinyoung, he fears, can tell too, as his grin takes on an endeared lilt. 

“I can take you to your home, if that’s what you want.” He murmurs, running a hand through his hair to comb it back off his forehead. Jaebeom nods hesitantly, shifting beneath him and gingerly sitting up against the headboard, erected from a living plant. Again, he’s sore, muscles stiff and aching after the rest of what happened before he fell asleep for good. Jinyoung, it seems, has no such issue, but he can clearly tell, a sadistic glint flashing in his eye as he shuffles backwards to make room.

“Oh-” Jaebeom pauses, eyes widening as he remembers details- “what- what did you-” he stutters, panic clawing at the edge of his chest as he remembers  _ agreeing  _ to something, to returning a  _ favour  _ he owes- “what did you want me to- to do?” He hardly dares to ask, faint and breathless. Jinyoung softens all at once, cupping Jaebeom’s face between his palms and leaning forwards to press a reverent kiss to his lips.

“It is a long story.” He murmurs, leaning back to smile at him; there’s a heavy sadness to it, lifted by glowing hope. Heart tugging against the panic in his chest, Jaebeom swallows thickly and reaches up to take his hands, pulling them from his face but keeping them close.

“Just- tell me what you need me to do.” He says, begrudging, but a bubble of warmth swells and breaks inside him when Jinyoung draws in a breath and smiles.

“A long time ago,” he says softly, wrinkling his nose when Jaebeom’s eyebrow quirks at the word time in a move so jarringly familiar and  _ human _ that it takes Jaebeom aback a little, “a… possession of mine was sealed away from me. A staff, of living rowan.” He pauses, something dark and furious passing over his face. “Her Verdant Highness, the Princess of Spring, stole it from me and sealed it behind crystal. I wish for its return, but I cannot retrieve it alone.” He looks down, lashes fluttering against flushed pink cheeks; he looks  _ embarrassed. _ Jaebeom’s heart creeps into his throat, waiting for him to continue, voice even softer and his fingers holding tight to Jaebeom’s. “I ask, humbly, for your help in this. I believe that you are the only one that can.” He sounds so hopeless, like he’s expecting a refusal. Jaebeom breathes out in a rush and squeezes his hands tight.

“Alright,” he whispers, “I’ll help you.” Jinyoung lifts his head and the smile on his face is so radiant, so utterly happy, that Jaebeom barely feels the rush of energy that passes through him, the tingling sweep of magic over him, noted and disregarded in the same thought. He leans closer, their foreheads together and the breath behind his answering words mingling with Jaebeom’s.

“You have my eternal gratitude, Jaebeom.” He whispers, shifting to press a kiss to his forehead. “I will take you to the place tonight, at the full moon.” Jaebeom opens his mouth to reply, but then everything jolts, vision blurring into nothing and his limbs falling limp and heavy.

He wakes in his bedroom, naked on top of the covers with his clothes piled beside him, a sprig of pure white lily-of-the-valley lying on his chest and a deep nervous anticipation settled into his belly.

The first thing Jaebeom does when he’s mechanically washed - again in cold water, his temperature returning to its now usual low now Jinyoung isn’t nearby - and dressed is look up what time the moon rises. Surprisingly, it’s at night. The second thing he does is muffle a small scream into a pillow. He’s really not sure what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, this is such a bad idea but at the same time, he’s not even  _ scared _ anymore. This is just- normal now. And even just thinking about how sad Jinyoung was talking about his missing staff has Jaebeom’s chest aching and his resolve strengthening; he hates seeing Jinyoung sad. He’d sooner take his smug secrecy over that. No, he’ll do what he agreed to, if just so Jinyoung will smile at him like he did when he agreed again. Some of the logical parts of his mind worry at his readiness, wondering if that little rush of magic was some form of charm, but the emotional parts summarily ignore them.

The conflict inside him leaves him antsy all day, short and snappish with everyone who speaks to him - and they  _ do  _ speak to him. Even with that little magical thing in his head still dormant, he’s visible again, able to go to his lectures and speak to classmates and be  _ seen  _ and  _ heard.  _ Admittedly, he’s not being very gracious about it and he finds himself wishing he was invisible again a few times when he’s sneered at for slightly knocking into people, but it is overall a relief to know he isn’t stuck as such anymore. He’s glamoured in fact, a semblance of the self he half-remembers pasted over the one he feels he shouldn’t; beneath the double image, his body has changed more. Become more different, those moving vines and flowers inked darker and moving more quickly, in his eyeline rather than just between blinks. His face again just slightly different, more of an angle to certain bones. There are more teeth in his mouth than there should be.

“Jaebeom!” A shout from further down the street catches his attention; Bambam jogs up next to him, a heavy rucksack over one shoulder and the world’s skinniest jeans painted onto his legs. “Hey! How are you, are you feeling better?” He chirps, pushing his sunglasses up onto his head - a little optimistic, the sun’s barely straining through thin clouds - and bouncing on his heels. Jaebeom smiles sheepishly at him.

“Yeah, a lot better, thank you.” He murmurs. Bambam grins, head cocked to one side. 

“I’m glad to hear that,” he says warmly, “what are you up to now?” Jaebeom, having finished his lectures and once again begged off his shift this afternoon citing his pretend illness, shrugs. He’d just been about to head home, readying to fret and worry all afternoon and evening about this upcoming  _ thing _ with Jinyoung. “I’ve got a lecture in half an hour and was going to get some lunch, want to come with?” He asks, all bright and cheerful. Jaebeom opens his mouth to refuse on autopilot, then stops and considers and nods instead. He needs some perspective, some reminder of the real world and Bambam is about as real as it gets.

Beaming, Bambam leads him back into the heart of campus, towards the student union and the shops and food outlets there. He chatters a bit too, talking about his lectures - boring but useful - his cats - doing well, though one of them has put some weight on recently - and his mother - also doing well, though missing him a lot. Jaebeom smiles and comments where necessary, actually listening and taking it in and revelling in someone else’s normal life and normal problems with normal solutions. 

Bambam heads for the shop, picking out a pot of instant noodles with the intent to use the kettle downstairs in the common rooms. When asked if he wants anything, Jaebeom stammers a refusal, having not even thought about it; he hasn’t eaten since waking up and he doesn’t particularly want to. Just the thought has his stomach roiling and turning over, so he says something about eating earlier that isn’t  _ quite _ a lie, meaning that he’d certainly eaten something at an earlier point in his life, even if it wasn’t today. 

It hits him as Bambam’s queuing to pay that he’s just made exactly the kind of tenuous rationalisation that faeries so often rely on in order to avoid lying. It’s a sharp shock, sitting oddly in his belly. His mind starts racing; can he not lie anymore? Is he so far into becoming whatever he’s becoming that he’s now only able to speak the truth? He tries to think of lies, things he could attempt to drop into conversation that wouldn’t seem weird. That he’s tired, or hungry (he’s neither, and already said as much, so that won’t work). That nothing of note has happened to him recently (also won’t work, since Bambam already knows about his  _ boyfriend _ ). That he’s on top of his coursework (he’s definitely not, but as problems go, not the most pressing at the moment). That could work. 

“Sorry for the wait.” Bambam says, stuffing change into his pocket and balancing a pot noodle and a bottle of water under his arm. Jaebeom smiles weakly, unable to form words just yet in his internal scrambling. Thankfully he doesn’t seem to notice, just jerking his chin towards the stairs and sighing as Jaebeom falls into tow beside him.

“You alright?” Jaebeom croaks, clearing his throat. Bambam nods, a wearier smile on his face now.

“Yeah just- remembered an essay I forgot about.” He winces, glancing back with a grimace. Jaebeom makes an appropriately sympathetic noise and overthinks how to segway into talking about his own work before Bambam just outright asks: “how’s your studying going?” 

“Oh, it’s d-”  _ done. _ But he chokes, the word catching in his throat; it  _ hurts, _ a sharp burning like acid that gets worse when he tries to repeat himself. He stops, coughing and awkwardly waving away Bambam’s concern. “It’s- going. Sorry, just-” He coughs harder, massaging his neck and accepting the bottle Bambam pushes into his hands, gingerly swallowing a gulp and gasping. It’s not crippling, not yet; Jaebeom thinks if he had to he could push past it, force out a lie if he really needed to, but soon he won’t. He feels lightheaded for a moment, like he’s teetering on some precipice, some point of no return, but it passes when Bambam grabs his shoulder, peering close to his face.

“Are you sure you’re feeling better? You look really pale.” He says anxiously. Jaebeom lets out a bark of semi-hysterical laughter and drags a hand down his face.

“Yeah, I- I feel worse again all of a sudden.” He mumbles, tongue thick and head stuffy. He can taste iron, like he’s bit his tongue. 

“Do you want me to walk you home?” Bambam offers, pushing the water bottle back to Jaebeom’s chest when he offers it back. Jaebeom shakes his head.

“I’ll be okay, I just- need some fresh air.” He says, offering a shaky smile and pushing past him to stumble for the door. 

“Text me when you get home!” Bambam shouts after him; Jaebeom raises a hand to acknowledge and bursts out into the thin sunlight. He shoves past the influx of people, pressing the heel of his hand into his temple against the headache starting to rise, but soon he’s free of the crowds, stepping off the pavement and onto the soil beneath the trees lining the street. He breathes out, easier, once he is, once he’s pressed his other hand to the bark and bowed his head towards it; it beats beneath his palm, slow and steady. Dimly, he notes that he must look pretty weird standing here like this, but lifting his head shows no one even glancing at him. Sure enough, his glamour has vanished and the vines on his arms twist as he watches, curling around his wrists, pimpernels and peach blossoms flowering along them and a single red chrysanthemum blooming on the back of his hand. No voice pipes up with their meanings this time, but it feels like they’re on the tip of his tongue nonetheless. 

He really is changing, Jaebeom muses dully. He wonders where that precipice he’d felt is, if he’s still approaching it or far beyond now. He finds he doesn’t really care what the answer is. 

He walks home. He texts Bambam as he approaches his street, not wanting to forget in the stress leading up to seeing Jinyoung for this- thing. And the stress is surely creeping up again, anxiety clawing at the inside of Jaebeom’s chest. He’s not sure if he can fail at whatever Jinyoung wants of him, but he’s really worried about doing so.

But all of these nerves fly from his head as he turns the corner, only to be replaced by fresh new ones; there are faeries waiting before his apartment building. He recognises one of them, Jackson, wearing an intricate and beautiful doublet with his wings fluttering nervously behind him, but the others he decidedly does  _ not. _ There are several others, but Jaebeom’s gaze is dragged almost unwillingly to the one in the centre, seemingly flanked by all the rest; it’s shaped like a human, body and face androgynous but heart-rendingly beautiful, all large sparkling eyes - colours shifting through greens and blues - and perfect dewy skin and full lips the richest red Jaebeom’s ever seen. It’s wearing a gown, spun from fine mint-green silks and draped with glittering silvery gossamer, sleeves long and hooked over each middle finger and the skirt brushing the floor when it glides a graceful step forwards. Its hands are devoid of rings, but there’s a truly stunning necklace of silver - or not silver, it can’t be silver - webbing so fine it looks impossible that it’s holding itself together, set with clear white diamonds and iridescent moonstone, about its throat and a smooth perfect silver circlet nestled in the wavy blond hair that cascades over its shoulders and halfway down its back.

“May I present Her Verdant Highness, the Princess of Spring.” Jackson says as he sweeps down into a bow, practised and confident but somehow stiff, completely different from how he spoke about Jinyoung the first time. There’s an apology in the recesses of his gaze when it meets Jaebeom’s, but it’s gone as soon as he registers it’s there. Jaebeom, heart pounding and fresh ice spreading through his veins, bows, as deep as he can and straightening with as pleasant a smile he can muster. 

“Hello,” she says, voice soft but battering against his eardrums like she’d shouted, “it’s so lovely to finally meet you.” She smiles and Jaebeom’s knees feel weak, head swimming; it’s a beautiful smile, but it’s somehow just wrong. Unnatural. Jaebeom’s teeth hurt like he’d bitten something too cold, a pressure building behind his eyes, but he stands his ground as she takes a measured step forwards. “His Fell Highness told me he would introduce me to you before… well. It seems he never got around to it.” She smiles wider, baring glittering white teeth. “How are you feeling? Are you nervous about the ceremony?” She asks, concern plastic and unreal, layered over glee. Brought up short, Jaebeom blinks.

“Ceremony?” He repeats blankly. Jackson, beside the Princess, winces.

“Yes, the ceremony,” she giggles, hiding her mouth behind a spidery hand, “or hasn’t he told you?” Jaebeom stares at her, pulse beating in his temples and a growing dread gripping him. “Oh, so he hasn’t.” She laughs outright, hand dropping again. She takes another step forwards; Jaebeom finds his eyes drawn to her hairline, her eyebrows, her eyelashes, all beaded with glittering dew. “He’s asked you to retrieve his staff. Do you even know what it is?” Her voice pitches lower, a shared whisper between them, but it drums against the inside of Jaebeom’s skull. He shakes his head, struck mute. “It’s his…” she pauses, mouth closing and jaw working like she’s chewing on the words, “symbol of power. Without it, he’s nothing. Just a shell of a thing, nothing more than party tricks.” She smiles, one hand lifting to brush the filigree of silver on her collarbones, spreading down her decolletage and back over her shoulders. 

“He said you sealed it away.” Jaebeom manages to croak. Everything feels wrong, off-balance. She inclines her head, brushing silvery curls off her shoulders- wait. They’d been yellow a moment ago.

“I did indeed. His Fell Highness and I, we’re opposites, you see. Conflicting. He’s an old friend.” She smiles like that makes sense and, in a way, Jaebeom supposes it does. “I sealed his power behind a prophecy, in retaliation for… something.” She waves an airy hand. “It doesn’t matter. It was a long time ago and I’ve forgiven him, but I can’t undo a prophecy. It needs a human, you see. The staff will only come into human hands and he thinks you’re his answer.” Jaebeom reels, lost in her words, stumbling towards comprehension but he can’t quite see the whole picture yet. “And you’ve agreed to help him, but you don’t know what you’ve agreed to.” She whispers this, reaching the distance between them. Jaebeom tenses, rooted to the ground, an electric pain swelling in his head until it discharges in a flash of agony when her fingers touch his cheek. They’re warm, but not as warm as Jinyoung’s.

“What are you saying?” He asks, not sure if he really wants to know the answer. Her palm curves to his cheek, a simpering, stickily sympathetic smile on her face. Jaebeom wants to move his face away and step back, but daren’t, not when her entourage are already rustling angrily at his lack of respect. 

“There are rules,” she says, “rules his Fell Highness hasn’t been following this time.” This time.  _ This time. _ Jaebeom rocks back on his heels as though that was a physical blow. He swallows, twisting shaking hands into fists, but she continues before he can force out the question. “He’s supposed to explain it all. Introduce them to me. With all the others, he’s always been so gracious an opponent. But with you… he’s been selfish. A law unto himself.” There’s an ache in Jaebeom’s chest, growing sharper, heavier, like pieces have chipped off his heart and clattered to the bottom of his chest. She presses her lips together, thumb caressing under his eye. Wiping at something, wet when it comes away. Jaebeom’s breath hisses out through his teeth and she muffles a giggle.

“Others?” He asks. She lifts her hand, examining the tear she’d caught on her thumb. 

“Oh yes. You’ve met some of them. His  _ suitors. _ ” She says the word quietly, hushed like it’s scandalous. “He’s never much interested in them once they’ve failed. Cast aside while he looks for the next hopeful.” No wonder they were so bitter. Jaebeom would hate himself too in their shoes, now he knows just how wonderful Jinyoung’s attentions are. “They’re the ones that never even tried. Once they fail, his Highness puts them out of mind and they degrade. Obsessive. Desperate for any scrap of regard. Sad, really.” She sounds anything but, like this is all some hilarious joke. Jaebeom’s shivering, teeth chattering together; he feels cold, but a different kind of cold. The kind of cold that never leaves, that leaks into everything, staining and ruining.

“What about- the ones that do try?” He manages to ask. He wishes he hadn’t when she starts to speak.

“If you attempt to retrieve his power, two possible futures lie ahead of you,” she whispers, conspiratorial, “you could succeed. Return his staff to him and return to his grateful embrace. Or,” she pauses, expression rearranging into something sad and grave, “you fail, like all the others who tried. And then you die.” She sounds so sorry, but a mad delight dances in her pale eyes. Jaebeom’s stomach drops through the pavement, breath coming in short rattling gasps. 

He’s been lied to. Is being lied to. Had thought he was safe by now, because  _ faeries can’t lie  _ and  _ Jinyoung wouldn't do that to him.  _ Of course, of course this is the catch, how could he be so  _ stupid _ as to think that he’d- what? Been special? Mattered as anything more than a means to an end? The chips become cracks and Jaebeom’s heart splinters, shatters. The Princess of Spring narrows her eyes just a fraction then one winks closed, thumb lifting so she can stare at him through the droplet on the tip.

“Why are you telling me this?” He grits out. Her lips push into a pout and she opens her eye, cocks her head to look past her hand at him. 

“There are rules,  _ darling _ ,” she says with a smile, with a casual ease that grips onto Jaebeom’s insides and twists, “I’m just making up for his Fell Highness’s disregard of them.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, tongue lapping up the tear. Jaebeom feels more spilling down his face, silent but uncontrollable, the pieces of his heart rattling in the void in his chest with every laboured breath. She hums, smacking her lips like she’d eaten something delicious, then smiles, radiant and lovely. “I suppose I will see you tonight, lovely Jaebeom. This should be quite the affair.” She inclines her head then turns to her entourage in a flurry of skirts and bouncing bronze curls. Jackson spares him a second glance, expression a blank mask, before he too turns away and leaves Jaebeom to crumble to the pavement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so,,,,, :^) things are a bit fucked huh ,,,, thanks for reading!!! I hope u enjoy the reintroduction of the angst!! and I do just want to point out that while I have updated some tags in the past, I will not be updating the major archive warnings bc I won't need to, so think of that what you will <3 lmk your thoughts!!! I really wanna hear them!! do so in a comment or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! also i'm not sure whether i'll actually be able to update next week (sorry about the cliff hanger lol) bc I have a busy as fuck week next week and may not have the energy so!! apologies for that,,, I hope you enjoyed this chapter though and i'm so grateful to everyone reading this!!!!


	10. Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back friendos I managed to get this out semi on time!! I hope u enjoy this chapter!! it involves a bit of blood, nothing too graphic, but be aware!! the song for this chapter is [unlike pluto - revenge, and a little bit more](https://youtu.be/A0T6LwpJGxw) which is :^) relevant hehehe enjoy!!!

Jaebeom isn’t left alone for long. Soon, once he’s crawled to the edge of the curb, once the deep, wracking, betrayed sobs have passed, once he’s finished pounding a fist against the concrete hard enough his knuckles bleed off-colour blood, someone approaches. A familiar someone, hovering just behind him, just outside his peripheral vision. At this point, Jaebeom’s curled himself up, arms wrapped around knees drawn to his chest, temple resting against them when he wearily turns his head towards Yugyeom, lurking nervously a little ways off. He looks grave, miserable and guilty and apologetic all bundled into one.

“You knew.” Jaebeom rasps, voice ruined from crying, from wordlessly screaming his frustration at his own fucking gullibility. Yugyeom crumples, collapsing into himself with his chin bowed to his chest.

“I wanted to tell you. But there are rules, I couldn't.” He sounds terrible, like the guilt has been eating him for days. Jaebeom doesn’t find himself very sympathetic. “I didn’t tell you the whole truth before. I- Jinyoung chose a friend of mine. His name was Sanghyuk. He died, at the ceremony.” It spills from his mouth like a confession, but it isn’t one Jaebeom wants to hear. He doesn’t want to know how he’s going to die. “I’m sorry.” He says it so emphatically, but it doesn’t connect, falling flat; what use are apologies now?

“Is there no way to get this over with now?” Jaebeom asks, just wanting the thing done so he can shuffle off this mortal coil in peace. But of course, Yugyeom shakes his head.

“There are rules.” He echoes himself miserably. Jaebeom huffs a mirthless laugh and gingerly straightens his legs, wincing at the pull against his cramped and aching muscles. 

“Is there anything else I should know that the Prince has left out?” He spits. Yugyeom winces, looks down, playing with his fingers.

“The prophecy. It’s- I can tell you it. Now you know about it.” He mumbles. Jaebeom shuts his eyes, pressing his palms hard against the rough concrete.

“Fine.” He whispers. Yugyeom shifts behind him, clothes rustling, before he starts to speak:

_ “A human heart, _

_ To me must bring, _

_ And free I’ll be, _

_ Thy song I’ll sing. _

_ Its love returned, _

_ To me, to me, _

_ And thy power great, _

_ Return to thee.”  _

He falls sheepishly silent. Jaebeom waits, letting the words sink in. He’s heard them before, albeit disjointed and distracted, at the first dance. He should have paid more attention. 

“This- ceremony. It needs m- someone. To be in love with Jinyoung?” He asks mechanically, a sour taste on his tongue. Yugyeom bows his head.

“That is what his Fell Highness believes.” He murmurs. Jaebeom swallows, pressing a palm to his chest. It aches, horribly. 

“Is that the truth?” He rasps. 

“I don’t know,” Yugyeom mumbles; of course he doesn’t, that would mean getting a straight answer, “are you?” It takes a second for Jaebeom to understand what he’s asking but when he does, his stomach drops out from under him. 

_ No.  _ Jaebeom tries to say, but it hurts, burning and bubbling in his throat, the same way a lie did saying it to Bambam. He gasps, clutching his throat and staring down at the cracked pavement. Is he? 

“I don’t know.” He croaks, this too burning but marginally less. He can’t- he can’t be. Is he in love with Jinyoung? It’s not been long enough, they’re not close enough, surely he’s not quite  _ that _ stupid. But when he carefully prods at the tender pieces in his chest, it doesn’t seem like such a wild possibility; why else would this, this ruined trust, this pile of his broken heart, hurt so much?

“Jinyoung believes you are,” Yugyeom says, reluctant but determined, a sorry grimace on his face when Jaebeom glances up through his fringe, “and he’s- he’s well-practised in identifying love.” Oh yes. Of course. How many hundreds of times has he done this exact thing, played this wonderful and sweet and charming lover until his target was swept off their feet? Jaebeom doesn’t consider himself a jealous person and he’s not even sure this feeling in him as he considers Jinyoung’s past conquests is jealousy. It’s sadder than jealousy, selfish in a different way; he just wishes he was the first, so the weight of so many dead and corrupted souls wouldn’t have just settled on his shoulders.

“What do I do?” He asks hopelessly. Yugyeom shifts, gaze trained downwards, remaining silent, but it’s okay. Jaebeom wasn’t expecting an answer.

Dusk rolls around slowly. Jaebeom stays outside on the pavement, long after Yugyeom had miserably taken his leave. He just stares up at the sky, watching clouds drift past and the colour change.

This is probably his last night alive. It’s with a surprising lack of panic this thought surfaces; he doesn’t have the energy. He’s so  _ tired.  _ It’s been so long since he’s had a full night’s restful sleep. But it’s more than that, obviously. A hurt, sad weariness has sunk into his bones, so fully suffusing him that he doesn’t even have room for anger right now. When he sees Jinyoung, it may well resurface from where it's bubbling and simmering away beneath the layers of his mind, but now… He’s just resigned. Resigned and betrayed and deeply,  _ resoundingly  _ alone. 

How could he have been so  _ stupid _ ?

The moon rises. Jaebeom watches it lift and when it reaches its peak, picks himself to his feet, brushing down his jeans and squaring his heavy shoulders as a tear flickers between two trees, opening into a different place. He steps forwards, crossing the street with his head high, dimly taking note of the glittering footprints he’s leaving; frost, trailing behind him and gathering in the folds of his clothes, on the ends of his hair. It’s not even cold. 

He steps through the tear, out into a clearing. A different setting, not the usual amber-leaved autumnal forest, but a meadowed circle surrounded by trees in full green leaf, blossoming in pink and white, branches heavy with the flowers. Full spring and beautiful with it. Jaebeom’s feet crush new grass as he walks forwards, creeping rosebay surrounding his path freezing and glittering with frost as he passes.

In the centre is a spire, clear colourless crystal holding frozen a staff and flanking this, the Prince of Autumn and the Princess of Spring. Other faeries lurk in the trees, peering between branches and hiding behind leaves and tall stems of hemlock and cow parsley when Jaebeom glances over them: Jackson’s there, Mark, Youngjae, all with varying degrees of excitement and interest. Yugyeom, a little ways away from the others and a grave look on his face. 

Jinyoung steps forwards, an unsuspecting smile on his face. It’s soft and beautiful and it rustles the shards in Jaebeom’s chest like an icy breeze; his anger boils and bubbles over and in that moment, Jaebeom hates him more than he’s ever hated anyone. How  _ dare _ he hurt him like this, play with his and  _ so many _ others’ lives like they’re nothing, just  _ toys _ , pawns in this stupid feud between him and the Princess? Jaebeom stops as he approaches and catches his wrist when he reaches for him, fingers biting into his skin; his eyes pop wide, comically shocked, until Jaebeom leans forwards.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” He hisses, taking vicious satisfaction in the slackening of his jaw and the sudden realisation that flares in his eyes. “Or was that only a problem if I lived?” Fury in its purest form twists Jinyoung’s face; he rips his arm away and whirls, glaring accusingly at the Princess. She just smiles, head cocking, lilac waves bouncing. 

“You haven’t been following the rules, your Highness.” She purrs, dipping into a sardonic curtsey. Jinyoung’s lips peel back from his teeth and in a flash he’s crossed the clearing, stopping inches from her face, but she just giggles and caresses the jewels about her throat; Jinyoung jerks, reeling like he’s been slapped. Jaebeom finds himself enjoying the pained and humiliated expression on his face, then horrified at his own sadism. “Now now,” she coos, lifting a hand to brush knuckles down Jinyoung’s cheek; held in place, he shakes, looking for all the world like he’d rip her throat out with his teeth if only he were able to move, “none of that, darling Prince. There’s a ceremony to be done-” she looks at Jaebeom, simpering and sympathetic- “and I imagine your pet would rather get this over with.” Jaebeom bristles, but there's no lie in her words; maybe that’s all he is to Jinyoung, just a pet. A little project. Trick the silly human into caring too much, just like all the others. Stupid and naive. But Jinyoung spins around again and stalks back, skidding to an uncontrolled stop in front of Jaebeom.

“Jaebeom, she’s-” He barks, grabbing Jaebeom’s arm but Jaebeom slaps his hand away and stumbles backwards; he can feel his face twist, bones shifting and cracking and rearranging into something different and inhuman as he bares his own teeth.

“Don’t touch me, don’t you  _ dare- _ ” He spits, but something still aches in his chest when Jinyoung’s expression crumples into outright shock and genuine - hah, as if he knows what genuine means, no,  _ apparent _ horror and sadness. “No, you’re a liar, you did this, you don’t get to be upset!” Jaebeom finds himself yelling, fists clenched tight at his sides; his vision blurs then clears, something dripping from his eyes and freezing, falling as solid ice from his cheeks. His anger trembles, warring with aching misery and the wish to just curl up somewhere solitary and weep for all of the things he wanted to believe Jinyoung had promised to him.

“No, I- I have never lied to you-” Jinyoung tries to interject, his voice faint and astonished, like he can’t believe his own weakness. His anger rearing up again anew at his pathetic justifications, Jaebeom barks an incredulous laugh, echoed by a delighted little giggle from the Princess.

“Well you certainly didn’t tell the fucking truth, did you?” Jaebeom retorts; Jinyoung’s mouth works, opening and closing a few times but nothing comes out. He’s shocked, deeply so and Jaebeom wants to feel more satisfied, but he’s just- heart-broken. He shakes his head, gritting his teeth and dashing his eyes on the back of his wrist. “Let’s just- get this over with. I’d rather not draw out my-”  _ death. _ The Princess is staring at him when he turns, red lips pulled into a smile that’s slightly too wide. “What do I have to do?” He says, quiet and exhausted, all of the fight draining from him at once. She steps forwards, offering a long-fingered hand.

“You will try to retrieve the Staff of Autumn? You accept the risk as it was spoken to you?” She asks, obscenely excited. Wearily, Jaebeom nods, reaching forwards to take her hand and ignoring the strangled noise that comes from behind him. What choice does he have? He refuses to spend the rest of however long he lives twisted into some- some sycophant obsessed with Jinyoung. No, he'd rather die than give him the satisfaction. 

The Princess bows her head and walks him towards the crystal; it towers over his head, spearing towards the sunless blue sky. It’s perfectly clear, just warping the image beyond in strange ways, twisting the trees and making the staff seem curved.

Something washes over Jaebeom when he steps into the circle of dead grass around the crystal, something heavy but familiar. Magic, but stronger, older and more powerful than any he's felt before. The Princess drops his hand, but he finds he doesn’t need the guidance anymore, something instinctual guiding his steps forwards.

“Wait-” Comes a gasp from Jinyoung, sounding torn from his chest. Jaebeom ignores him, approaching the shard. He can see his reflection in the polished surface, can watch the vines on his arms and neck twist and coil, deep black geraniums and red rhododendron flowers blossoming on the backs of his hands. He ignores them and the meanings beating against his skull too, grimly pushing himself forwards.

The faeries in the trees start to sing, chanting the prophecy Yugyeom had told him. It’s written on the crystal, carved into the surface in curling script. Jaebeom stops a step away from it, looking up at the staff suspended above him. 

“Jaebeom, listen to me-!” Jinyoung’s shouting behind him now but it feels faraway, like Jaebeom’s the one encased in crystal, shielded from the world. In a trance, he lifts his hand and reaches forwards.

The crystal is cold, even to him, so cold it hurts; it punches into his hand, spreading up through his veins and freezing him from the inside out. It doesn’t feel wrong though. It feels necessary, like he’s being evaluated. 

And found satisfactory; the cold melts into him and the crystal cracks beneath his palm. At first just a hairline fracture, but then more, larger and louder, like gunshots in the sudden deathly silence. Acting again on the instinct drumming in his mind, Jaebeom steps forwards and lifts his other hand, pushing fingers into the fissure and  _ pulling.  _ The crystal groans and creaks, resisting his efforts until something inside him clicks and he’s able to push a thought through that bump in his mind; strength, magically enhanced, fills his arms and he keeps pulling. It’s hard and it hurts, so much that he almost bites through his tongue to stop himself screaming aloud, more solid tears of effort falling from his eyes. His whole body begs with him to stop, but he feels the crack widening, splitting higher and higher up the crystal.

Until it splinters to the top and shatters, all at once, bursting out as though exploding from a point above Jaebeom’s head. He stumbles forwards, falling to his knees and there are shouts and screams and gasps, Jinyoung’s yell and the Princess of Spring’s shriek cutting through the cacophony. Jaebeom barely hears them, barely hears anything over the ringing in his ears, but he can tell when it falls silent as the dust settles. His nose is bleeding, as are his arms from countless hairline cuts, dripping blood freezing and scattering the dead grass with tiny crimson beads and he thinks he’s popped an eardrum, even more metallic blood coating his tongue, but he lifts his pounding head, wobbles to his feet and reaches upwards to pluck the staff out of the air. 

The crowds start to clamour, some cheering, some hissing, some just wordlessly shrieking. Jaebeom looks at the staff, turning it over in his hands; it’s thrumming with energy, shimmering and wavering like it’s producing a glamour all of its own, like it’s hiding some immense power. Though, Jaebeom supposes vaguely, it is. As he holds it, it starts to sprout leaves, deep red-orange and deep within it, a resounding, crashing heartbeat starts to pound.

Jaebeom turns. The Prince and the Princess are both staring at him, slack-jawed and astounded. Staring at Jinyoung, Jaebeom finds he’s not  _ as _ angry anymore - not dying probably helped - but he’s still sore and betrayed and lonely; he steps forwards, walking steadily up to him and shoving the staff into his chest. He catches it with numb hands, not even looking down at it as he stares ashen-faced at Jaebeom.

“Leave,” Jaebeom says, throat sore and voice hoarse, “and don’t come back.” Jinyoung doesn’t say anything and Jaebeom doesn’t wait, pushing past him to walk towards the ethereal tear, still opened out onto his street.

Just before he steps out through it, he hears the Princess of Spring burst into ringing peals of laughter, but it closes before he can hear anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so!!! we're in real angst town now friends!! i hope u enjoyed this chapter!!! i really want to hear your thoughts!! drop them in a comment down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! <3<3 see you guys next week!!


	11. Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friendos we're back at it again!!! important note, this chapter is where the perspective splits!!! so if the text is in italics, it's Jinyoung's POV, while regular text is still Jaebeom as per usual :3 the song for this chapter is [cadmium - not your baby feat. jex](https://youtu.be/IxVhoFh0VXw) as u may be able to tell from the title, it's pretty relevant sksjdskj anyway enjoy the chapter!!!

_ The crystal shatters and Jinyoung fears the worst. That not only has the ceremony failed - already twisted in a direction he’s never seen before as none of the others, those who’d tried, had managed to touch the crystal for more than an instant before their failure - not only has Jaebeom failed,  _ died _ , an outcome he finds himself unwilling,  _ unable  _ to bear, but taken his staff with him, his long-trapped power splitting and spiralling into nothing. But no, the dust clears, crystal shards melting into nothing, to reveal Jaebeom, on his knees but holding himself upright, with the staff free, suspended above him in the air. _

_ Jinyoung almost doesn’t believe his eyes. A deathly silence weighs the air as Jaebeom, slowly, painfully, pushes himself to his feet. He’s hurt, bleeding, frozen crimson droplets scattered to the wind from countless scratches on his arms, neck, face; something in Jinyoung’s chest twists, tight and vicious and forcing the air from his lungs, but Jaebeom just stands, lifting his head and a hand and plucking the staff from its suspension.  _

_ The silence splinters, voices raising in joy and dismay and disbelief. Beside him the Princess gasps, a torn astonished thing, but Jinyoung can’t find his tongue as Jaebeom turns, more blood, thick and cold and congealing, dribbling from his nose, painting his pretty lips a darker shade. His expression is nothing but his eyes. His eyes are bottomless yet brimming with  _ something _ . Several dark stained somethings and Jinyoung can’t untangle them quickly enough, not when he’s so used to seeing warmth and light, even dimmed behind lessening fear. Not when Jaebeom’s crossing the clearing like he wants to be anywhere else, those eyes, still wet but steeling over, pinning Jinyoung’s with a cold-iron glare. _

_ “Leave,” he rasps, ruined but even as he shoves the staff into Jinyoung’s chest, “and don’t come back.” He lets go and Jinyoung barely catches it. Barely feels the rush of his magic, all of his magic, returning to him, sweeping crashing waves breaking into his mind, barely even notices that what he’s been desperately trying to retrieve for ages has been returned to him. Not when there’s some  _ feeling _ filling his whole being, a hollow, clawing, ripping feeling, dragging at his insides and constricting too tight around his chest. _

_ Jaebeom walks away, towards where the tear still stands open. The thought leaps to Jinyoung; close the gate! Don’t let him leave! But he remains paralysed, the words weighing on his tongue but it stubbornly refuses to move. It  _ hurts _ , watching him walk away. Jinyoung feels lost in his own mind - it’s saddened him before when the humans he’s chosen had died, deeply and profoundly but nothing like this and Jaebeom is  _ alive _ . He feels like he’s drowning under a bitter sea and he should be  _ doing  _ something, he can’t let Jaebeom leave, but- _

_ The Princess begins to laugh. Huge, hideous, guffawing things, her mouth pulling wide open and her body crumpling, arms cradling her stomach. Jinyoung barely spares her a sneer, finally managing to stumble forwards a step, fingers vising on the staff, mouth opening to call the tear to close, but it’s no use; Jaebeom’s stepped back through onto unfeeling pavement and the rift seals behind him. _

_ “Oh, this is just priceless!” The Princess continues to laugh, shrill and grating. Teeth cracking and groaning with how hard his jaw clenches, Jinyoung whirls and bares them to her. _

_ “What, may I ask, is so funny, your Highness?” He grits out, forcing the magic crackling up his spine to calm, settle, just for now. He pets it like a barely-tamed beast, soothing with promises of soon, soon and it wraps around his mind again, sparks flashing at the corner of his eyes. The Princess, now sat on the soft grass, wipes crystal tears from her eyes. _

_“Oh, my dear Prince,” she giggles, “I’m so sorry to tell you this, but you’ve fallen in love with a human.”_ _There’s a long beat of stunned silence._

_ “What are you talking about?” Jinyoung spits, projecting an image of fury but inside he’s shaken to his core. The Princess laughs some more, rising to her feet and brushing down her skirts. _

_ “The prophecy. All this time, you’ve had it wrong.” She giggles, gliding closer. “It wasn’t the human’s love that was important. It was yours.” She stops before him, voice dropping to a musical whisper as Jinyoung stares, rooted to the floor. “Its love returned,” she whispers, “I didn’t think you had it in you to truly love something. I thought you’d lose your power forever. But now-” she grins, cheeks splitting open to let it pull wider, all of her teeth glistening in her mouth- “now you’ve got it back. And you- fell in love with a human!” She bursts into laughter again, echoing through the clearing. The other Spring folk join her, guffawing and cackling and jeering when he reels back. This is nonsense; him, the Prince of Autumn, in love with- No. No she’s wrong, she’s mistaken, she must be. There’s another explanation for the holes in his chest, it can’t be love. It can’t be. Fury and shock and humiliation boil in his chest, no doubt her plan coming to full fruition, but she doesn’t leave it there, not now he’s snagged on her claws. “And with  _ this  _ human too. Oh dear, if only you’d followed the rules this time, darling-” her voice distorts, her own iridescent anger bubbling through and her claws sinking deeper- “then maybe, maybe he wouldn’t  _ hate  _ you.” Jinyoung jerks and straightens, his insides somehow writhing and scooped hollow at the same time. He bleeds inside just remembering, remembering Jaebeom’s wrath, his deep and pained anger, the disbelieving hurt rolling from him in rotting waves and breaking heavy and sickly against Jinyoung.  _

_ “Enough.” Jinyoung snaps, drawing himself up and baring his own teeth. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” She laughs in his face, silvery filigree spreading in tendrils from her necklace, her own symbol of power, across her shoulders, down her arms and chest even as the staff in Jinyoung’s hand grows, roots wrapping around his wrist and climbing up to his elbow. _

_ “You saw it on his face, didn’t you? How badly you’d ripped the poor thing’s heart out, how messy, how deliberate, all of those broken bones and torn tissues,” she snarls, twisted smile still carving her face open, “how cruel you are, darling, to delight in ruining so many toys like this, one after the other in pursuit of your desires, even the one that you  _ love _ .” She draws herself up, ash-grey hair floating around her spoiled face. “How suited you are to your throne.” She spits, biting and derisive. Jinyoung hisses, wood creaking under his fingers as he raises the staff, tearing the leash off the magic welling beneath it and willing it forwards blindly, with only the order to hurt. _

_ But then he stops. Stares, in pure and utter disbelief, as someone steps in front of him. Hands raised, a mask of furious determination and no small amount of fear on his face, Yugyeom steps between them. Walks to Jinyoung, daring even to grasp the staff, drag it and Jinyoung’s arm downwards in turn. _

_ “Enough.” He echoes, shaky but resolute. Jinyoung burns, unable to believe his insolence and then it’s just made worse as the Princess lets out another hideous shriek of laughter. _

_ “And even now, even with your power you can’t even control your own subjects!” She screeches to the delighted clamour of her folk present. The Autumn folk present whisper, alarmed and dismayed and Jinyoung grits his teeth, glaring furiously at Yugyeom. It cows him, but only a little, his hands shaking but staying where they are. _

_ “Please,” he says, soft and for Jinyoung’s ears only, “please, your Highness. This isn’t- I can help you. If you stop this, I’ll help you with Jaebeom.” That is enough to punch through Jinyoung’s rage. He doesn’t understand quite why, why just the thought sets his heart racing, climbing into his throat, but it can’t be- “Your Highness. I swear to you, I’ll do my best to get him to talk to you again if you stop.” Yugyeom repeats. Jinyoung stares him down, reading the desperate honesty in his eyes.  _

_ “Why?” He asks, cracked with a growl; Yugyeom doesn’t like him. Reluctantly obeys him while blaming him for his friend’s death.  _

_ “It’s not for you. It’s for his sake, he’s hurting and he doesn’t deserve to.” He says bluntly, that Jinyoung  _ does  _ left unsaid but heavily implied; it drags some gasps from surrounding folk, but it’s as good a motivation as any. Better even than most; this way, Yugyeom will do his best in a way that doing it for Jinyoung wouldn’t warrant. _

_ Jinyoung lowers his staff. The Princess of Spring cackles as he does so, but he ignores her, keeping his eyes on Yugyeom, narrowed and expectant. Yugyeom bows his head, his eyes resolute and cold when he lifts it again.  _

_ “We should discuss this somewhere else.” Yugyeom says softly and Jinyoung nods, turning his back on the Princess without a second glance and slamming the base of his staff to the floor; a tear shimmers into existence, the entrance to his palace glittering beyond. Jinyoung, flanked by Yugyeom and followed by his folk, steps through, sealing the laughing Princess behind him. _

The first thing Jaebeom does when he steps into his flat, before he even lets himself think about anything, is take a shower. He turns the heat up until he can hardly stand it - probably barely warm to anyone else - and scrubs drying blood off his arms. There’s a surprising lack of it, most having frozen on contact with the air and dropped off solid, but it’s nice to be completely free of it. The images on his skin shift, changing before his eyes; the vines curl around torn sections, some completely severed by the shattering crystal, while the cuts in his skin proper have already healed, sealed over and vanished into nothing. Large flowers curl back into buds, their loose petals scattered and ripped and smaller blooms and leaves weave between the broken vines, spiked teasels and sprigs of weeping willow and bilberry. Jaebeom sighs, wiping at his arms as though that would rid him of the ink, from the meanings of them all -  _ misanthropy, mourning, treachery  _ \- that thrum mockingly at the back of his mind. 

As he steps out of the shower, glancing at the mirror - the shower wasn’t even hot enough to fog it up - he sees something. A yellow tulip, wilted and frayed, blooming over his heart; it loses a petal as he watches. Exhausted, miserable, Jaebeom turns away.

Jaebeom sleeps away the next day, just waking long enough to occasionally stretch and reply to Bambam’s anxious messages. It's nice to be able to sleep, soundly and without dreams, though every time he wakes he's plunged into sadness again when the memories return. He tries not to think too hard about any of it, rolling over and forcing himself to go back to sleep.

Still, there eventually comes a point where Jaebeom, no matter how much he tosses and turns, can’t sleep anymore. Irritably, he sits up, ruffling his hair into an approximate shape and glowering at the leaves fluttering on his arms, pale rose petals suspended among them. They shake as he glares, curling up as though afraid. Scrubbing at his arms, Jaebeom stands, gathering his things together and preparing to head into campus; seems like he won’t be leaving his real mundane life behind any time soon.

On the way in, he calls his workplace, apologizing profusely to his apparently harried manager for being ill and promising to show up to his shift that afternoon. She heaves a sigh, mumbling something about not giving him any more chances, but she sounds genuinely pleased to know he’s alright. And he is alright, he thinks. Overall. He’s just got some weird baggage now and may or may not be fully human anymore. Human enough for that stupid ceremony. Human enough to be stupidly broken-hearted over a faery just acting out its nature - really, what else was he expecting? Some whirlwind romance? Genuine care? The truth? No, this, this mess of half-truths and lies by omission and broken hearts was inevitable, Jaebeom can see that now, but it still hurts. Will hurt, he suspects, for a while. 

There is one pretty cool thing to come out of this, besides the weird changes to his body on which he remains undecided; Jaebeom is now able to use a very limited amount of magic. That little nodule of thrumming energy in his mind has split open, spilling its contents into him; he can pull a glamour over himself at will now. Useful, since he has to in order to be visible to normal humans. It doesn’t, as he’s discovered, have to look like him either. He’d spent a baffled twenty minutes in front of the mirror experimenting with it; seeing himself layered underneath the appearance of another person is extremely disconcerting and he doesn’t think he’ll be doing it again anytime soon, but it’s definitely cool. He’s not sure what else he can do - he’d spent an embarrassingly long time glaring at his keys and unsuccessfully willing them to float into his hand - but he’ll figure it out. He’s got time.

His day is weirdly normal. It feels like something tangible should have changed, be it how people react to him and talk to him or something larger, more dramatic - that the weather should shift now that the Prince of Autumn has his full power back - but there’s nothing like that. It’s a normal, chilly, drizzly autumn day during which Jaebeom does ordinary university and work things, even if he keeps anxiously checking if people notice that around him, the rain occasionally turns to snow. There are even faeries around, doing what faeries do - playing tricks on unsuspecting humans, of course - and they look at him and whisper, but none come over. None speak to him. It’s all rather strange in its absolute normality.

But of course, it couldn’t stay like this, could it? He couldn’t just be left to get on with things on his own. Because waiting outside of his workplace that evening when he’s signed out and left, propped against a tree with his arms crossed, is Yugyeom. Admittedly not the faery Jaebeom would have expected to come after him, but definitely the one he’d rather see out of any of them. He smiles when Jaebeom peers at him, small and sheepish; his eyes flick upwards and Jaebeom, confused, follows his gaze and, of course, he’s not alone. Perched in the tree above him with his feet kicking carelessly and a sharp stare directed at him, is Mark, the wings draping from his shoulders swaying in the breeze. He smiles too, with more teeth. Jaebeom’s not sure if that’s deliberate or just a result of simply  _ having  _ more teeth.

Jaebeom sighs, glancing around and, upon seeing no one looking, letting his glamour fall away before crossing the road towards them. Yugyeom shrinks a little as Mark leaps down, alighting beside him.

“Hello.” Jaebeom says cautiously. Yugyeom mumbles a greeting in return but Mark sweeps down into a full bow. 

“Good evening,” he says, sounding extremely amused for some reason Jaebeom can’t identify, “I hope we find you well.” He straightens, regarding Jaebeom with a piercing stare, lips split on a grin. Jaebeom folds his arms, skin crawling under his gaze.

“What are you doing here?” He asks flatly. Yugyeom sighs, a long-suffering look passing over his face, while Mark outright laughs.

“There’s- something we need to explain.” Yugyeom says, sheepish and halting. Jaebeom looks between him and Mark, the former tired but determined and the latter curious and entertained. 

“Are you willing to listen?” Mark asks, lilting like he’s not sure whether he wants a yes or a no. Jaebeom sighs and rubs his eyes.

“Alright.” He murmurs, wondering if he’ll come to regret this too.

_ “You’ve hurt him,” Yugyeom says behind him as Jinyoung sweeps into his chambers, “do you even understand how?” There’s an edge to his voice, vicious and mocking, but the question rings genuine. Jinyoung turns on his heel to bare his teeth at him, slamming the butt of his staff into the ground.  _

_ “You will show me some respect or I-” He draws himself up, gathering some of that freshly swirling power when Yugyeom spits back and cuts him off even as he shakes so hard he looks fit to fall over. _

_ “I can try to help you repair the bridge that you burned. Do you want that or not?” He looks furious, more angry than Jinyoung’s ever seen him, enough to knock down some of his fear. “You can’t even see what you’ve done, can you?” His tone now, still mocking, but sad too. Jinyoung sneers at him, pride drawing his back up straighter. “You lied to him, about everything. Built what you had between you on lies. Do you understand how awful that feels, how much that hurts? To find out in one go that not only was he not the only one, not special, not different in your eyes to any other human you’ve broken, and that all of this was done to him with the full expectation of his death at the end?” There’s venom in his voice, a long-buried wound infected and bleeding into it. This isn’t just about Jaebeom. _

_ “I never lied to him and I never  _ expect- _ ” Jinyoung snaps, singular but referring to both. Yugyeom scoffs. _

_ “Lying by omission is still lying. You never told them the truth. Any of them.” There are tears in his eyes, sparkling and golden.  _

_ “They all knew. They made their choices.” Jinyoung hisses, defensive, the staff crackling beneath his too-tight grip. “Your friend made his choice.” Twin glittering tracks run down Yugyeom’s face. _

_ “You don’t even remember his name, do you?” He asks, suddenly quiet, hollow. Jinyoung remains silent. The room is silent, save for the rustling of leaves. It stretches, for a long time, during which Yugyeom wilts, folding into himself like his body is suddenly too heavy to carry. _

_ “I’ll try and help you. But only because it will help Jaebeom too.” He mumbles, head bowed and voice pained. Jinyoung stares at him, eyes tight. “I’ll try and talk to him.”  _

_ “Ask him to meet with me.” Jinyoung says briskly. Yugyeom bristles, tightly folding his arms.  _

_ "He won't. Not yet, and maybe not ever." He says bluntly; Jinyoung’s lip curls away from lengthening teeth and Yugyeom blanches but holds his ground. _

_ “Convince him.” He hisses, distorted through his teeth, a strange empty space opening inside his chest at the thought of never seeing Jaebeom again. _

_ “All I can do is try.” Yugyeom mumbles, dipping into a bow just low enough to be proper, but bordering on disrespectful.  _

_ “I’ll go with him.” A voice pipes up; Mark, his eyes glittering and head cocked. Jinyoung frowns at him suspiciously while Yugyeom whirls with a spluttered question of why. He just shrugs, watching Jinyoung like a hawk would a particularly bold mouse; Jinyoung sneers at him and waves a hand. _

_ “Fine. Just get me- something.” _

“No.” Jaebeom says, numbly, when Yugyeom is finished. Mark looks away, pressing his lips together like he’s fighting a laugh, but Yugyeom just looks grave. 

“It’s true. Jinyoung is in love with you, or you wouldn’t have got to his staff.” He says softly. Jaebeom huffs out a breath, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes until coloured spots dance behind his eyelids. 

“He doesn't believe it either.” Mark chimes in, head cocked and smiling when Jaebeom drops his hands to glare at him. No wonder, because it’s just patently ridiculous; Jinyoung does not love him. Jinyoung doesn’t know  _ how _ to love someone. And it’s not- it’s not even his fault, it’s just not in his nature. How can Jaebeom expect him it of him? He’s not human and if there’s one thing that Jaebeom knows it’s that faeries do not experience emotions in the same way as humans.

“But he’s wil-” Yugyeom pauses, a pained expression passing over his face as he tilts his head this way and that- “well, no, he’s not  _ willing  _ to learn, exactly, but he will. He doesn’t want to lose you, so he won’t have a choice.” Jaebeom stares at him, a punched-out hollow aching in his empty chest.  _ He’s already lost me  _ sits on the tip of Jaebeom’s tongue, but he can’t say it; there’s a final pathetic thread of hope, frayed and stretched taut, strung between the bits of his heart and the red leaves fluttering to the ground around them, the cool breeze blowing around them, the cold air and weak sunlight, thanks to Yugyeom’s words.

“Why?” He asks helplessly, a thousand meanings behind the question. Why is Jinyoung trying? Why is Yugyeom helping him? Why him, why this, why now? Why couldn’t they all just leave him in peace? Why is Mark even here? He’s just standing there looking all amused and pensive in one. 

“He doesn’t know,” Yugyeom says, clearly answering the first.

“Yes he does,” Mark interjects, eyes narrowing at Jaebeom just slightly.

“Well, he does, sort of,” Yugyeom corrects, exasperated, shooting Mark a disgruntled look, “he knows he wants you around. But he won’t put a label on the feeling. He won’t acknowledge that he’s in love with you.” Jaebeom bristles, still instinctively unable to accept this conclusion, even if it makes sense with what they’ve told him. How could Jinyoung do what he did to someone he allegedly loves?

“He can’t. He doesn’t know how.” Mark chips in again, this time soft, airily exasperated too. 

“And you do?” Jaebeom snaps, unthinking and unkind - Yugyeom was human, he understands, but Mark seems as alien as a faery can be, taking nothing but amusement from all of the shit this has sent Jaebeom’s way. Mark looks shocked, almost impressed, rocking back on his heels and cocking his head.

“No,” he says cheerily, “but I’m curious about this. And you. You can ask me to leave if that’s distasteful to you.” Curious. At least he’s upfront about his motivation. Jaebeom sighs and drags a hand down his face. 

“Whatever.” He mumbles. At least someone is getting something out his miserable situation.

“His Highness wants to know if you’re willing to meet with him.” Yugyeom says abruptly, face scrunched like he’s tasting something sour. Mark smiles angelically when Jaebeom shoots him another suspicious glance.

“No.” He says bluntly; it’s too soon, everything's still raw. He doesn’t want Jinyoung’s excuses, he’s not even sure he wants anything of him at all; he wants to lick his wounds and see if he can piece something of his heart back together before even considering ever seeing him again. Oddly, Yugyeom relaxes and smiles like he’s done something right.

“Good. You should make him sweat,” he says, sounding delighted with the idea, “he deserves it.” Jaebeom huffs a surprised laugh, while Mark snorts and snickers behind a hand. “Would you be willing to talk to us again?” Ah, of course it wouldn’t be so easy.

“In a couple of days?” Jaebeom sighs; can he just get some peace, even for a little while? But again, Yugyeom nods and Mark shrugs like he couldn’t care less.

“Take care of yourself. This bit of- changing, it’s weird and- unpleasant. But you’ll get through it.” Yugyeom says with a sympathetic grimace - lovely, that bodes so well - before grabbing Mark’s arm and dragging him away into the park behind them. Jaebeom watches them go with a pinched frown, rubbing his temple against the headache beginning to pound against his skull.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading everyone!!!! pls let me know your thoughts down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! we've got some of Jinyoung's pov now, how are we feeling about that!!! hopefully it'll shed some light on his thought processes behind all this nonsense ehehehe thank u again!!! come talk to me about this chapter!!!


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome fronds enjoy this chapter :^) two songs this week!! [coopex & veronica bravo - what do I do](https://youtu.be/8_qHYMvox8o) and [frnd - graveyard](https://youtu.be/Rsfl2_jMZ4M) again, each is from a different pov and it's fairly obvious which is which ehehehe please give them a listen!! they're both really good and appropriate for this chapter!!

True to their word, Jaebeom doesn’t see Yugyeom or Mark or any other faeries he knows for the next three days. He barely sees any faeries at all in fact - they all skitter away when they see him coming - so clearly, finally, someone has listened to him. It’s nice. Relaxing. He feels more relaxed than he has in maybe his whole life; he doesn’t need to worry about keeping his sight a secret if he’s almost a faery himself now after all.

His changes do… continue. And Yugyeom was right, they’re certainly worsening. He’s constantly sore, muscles and bones aching as they shift and stretch and change shape only to change back again like his body can’t decide what it wants to do with itself. His skin itches all over one moment and stings like a burn the next, taking on a strange bluish tint, his tattoos appearing brighter and clearer until they’re so life-like Jaebeom’s caught himself attempting to brush a leaf or petal off his arm more than once. They flutter as though he had actually touched them and, just occasionally, the texture of his skin changes too, a leaf or flower or frosty vine beneath his fingers. 

He also no longer needs to eat anything. Can’t, really, since everything tastes terrible, but now he doesn’t get hunger pangs, no cravings, not even for coffee. He does wonder how he’s getting any energy, but how do any faeries get theirs? They have faery food, he’s always been warned never to accept any food from a faery after all in a well-known superstition with a depressing amount of truth to it, but he doesn’t seem to need that either. Maybe it’s magic. Or the leaves on his tattoos are photosynthesising. That might be the case, since he does still get thirsty. His temperature has stabilised at a deep frost at least and he’s used to that now, which is something.

But the change he notices the most, for the simple reason that he can’t stop thinking about  _ someone else  _ every time he sees it, are his eyes. They’ve started changing colour. He can’t control it, not without a glamour, but they flicker and shift between colours, initially slowly but gradually faster and faster. And that, of course, just brings his thoughts back to Jinyoung, over and over and over again, no matter how much he tries to push them away. 

He  _ misses _ Jinyoung. He wishes that he didn’t, really tries not to and he’s not sure that he even wants to see him, but he still misses him. He tries not to think about him, but even then he gets stuck in cycles where he keeps going over every interaction, trying to pick apart affectations of affection and the genuine thing, trying to figure out if Jinyoung really did care about him at all beyond just being a means to his power’s return. He’s becoming resigned to the fact that he just can’t tell. He doesn’t know. He’d like to believe that Jinyoung does or at one point did care about him -  _ love  _ him, as Yugyeom so insisted - but he just can’t. Not really. He’ll believe it if Jinyoung says with his own tongue, to Jaebeom’s face, that he’s sorry and that he shouldn’t have lied and that he really does care, but until then he’ll remain sceptical. 

_ Yugyeom has been avoiding him. Frustratingly well; he’s enlisted Mark’s help, who has of course dragged Youngjae into it. Too often Jinyoung finds the pair of them whispering, only for them to stop when he enters the room and no matter how he asks, cajoling or wheedling or threatening, they never tell him anything. Just smile, smug and knowing. Jinyoung feels like the butt of a joke near constantly at the moment, and he hates it. Even Jackson is no help, simply wringing his hands and apologising over and over again whenever they talk; for not realising the meaning of the prophecy (which still cannot be true), for not reining in the Princess (a pointless thing, no one can rein her in from anything), for not being able to convince him to explain what Jaebeom needed to do (also pointless, Jinyoung knows full well he cannot be reined either). All well meaning enough, but it’s no  _ help _ , not when he’s trying to  _ act _ .  _

_ So no, Yugyeom remains stubbornly un-found, his only communication coming in the form of a note left on his throne:  _ Jaebeom does not want to see you. Think about why that is.  _ But that is the point: Jinyoung does not  _ know _ . He can rationalise it in his mind, like putting puzzle pieces next to each other on a board: Jaebeom does not want to see him because he is hurt. He is angry. He does not trust him, because Jinyoung didn’t tell him the entire truth. But the break, the disconnect comes in the because; how can he expect the  _ entire  _ truth? There’s no such thing, there’s always omission, always half-truths in everything and Jinyoung simply used that to his advantage. None of the others reacted like this. Most were simply scared, or just so eager to please that it blinded them to their fear. But Jaebeom, he hadn’t seemed afraid. Simply determined and utterly furious and simmering with hurt.  _

_ Jinyoung can’t make sense of it. The pieces lie inert, the ghost of a picture, but Jinyoung can’t fit them together and it’s disquieting. More than that, Jinyoung can think about nothing else, pacing his rooms and gardens, incessantly trying to make them fit but all the while an unpleasant realisation nags at him; he’s never going to figure it out on his own. And if he can’t figure it out at all, he’ll never bring Jaebeom back to him and this- hollowness inside him, the empty longing he can’t find a way to fill, he fears will never go away. _

_ Until, quite out of nowhere, he turns at the apex of his pacing and lifts his head to see Yugyeom hovering at the entrance to the gardens, long deserted of any other folk for fear of inciting Jinyoung’s now notoriously tempestuous ire. He shrinks when Jinyoung meets his eyes, but holds his gaze, chin lifting defiantly.  _

_ “Have you had time to think?” He asks, just the far side of disrespectfully condescending. Jinyoung feels his lip curl back, magic prickling red at the corners of his vision and his crown of beech - his staff moulded into a new form - creaking and shivering and shifting in his hair. Yugyeom swallows, but steps into the room proper, clasping his hands behind his back and striding forwards to stand before Jinyoung. “Well?” He prompts, delivery a little shaky but convincing enough. Jinyoung bristles, considers striking him for his impertinence but thinks better of it; for all his irritating smugness, he’s likely the best chance Jinyoung has of ever seeing Jaebeom again. _

_ “I have.” He grits out, taking hold of the fury bubbling at the back of his head and forcing it down, taking a deep breath and gradually relaxing his shoulders. Yugyeom smiles, but it twists and shakes. _

_ “Then tell me what you did wrong.” He says, trying for confidence. Calm, calm, Jinyoung whispers to his mind, folding his arms and forcing a smile. _

_ “I didn’t tell him the truth. Not all of it.” Yugyeom visibly sags, mumbling something under his breath but stepping into the garden proper.  _

_ “Alright, why do you think that hurt him?” He asks, teetering between patience and exasperation. _

_ “I don’t know!” Jinyoung explodes, throwing his hands into the air in frustration. Yugyeom twitches, balking for a moment like he’s about to scarper away, but he settles down quickly, an odd, sad expression passing over his face. No, not sad; pitying. Jinyoung draws himself up, the air crackling around him as his grip on his magic slips, just enough to spark.  _

_ “Okay,” Yugyeom says quickly, placating and apologetic, “okay, just- I’ll explain. I’ll try to.” He settles when Jinyoung looks away, taking a cautious step forwards and sighing. “Look, when you realised the Princess had gone behind your back to talk to Jaebeom, how did you feel?” He asks. Jinyoung blinks, brought up short. He’d felt- _

_ “Angry.” He snarls, voice bubbling with it just at the memory. Yugyeom nods with a small exasperated sigh. _

_ “Yes,” he says, patiently, as though talking to a child, “but you also felt betrayed, right? That she’d go behind your back like that.” Betrayed... Yes. It stung, her betrayal hurt, even if he expected it from her. “Now, imagine how you would feel if Jaebeom had betrayed you like that.” If Jaebeom- No. _

_ “He wouldn’t do that.” Jinyoung snaps, a sick light beginning to dawn on him. Yugyeom sighs, a nerve jumping in his temple. _

_ “Imagine if he did.” He grits out. Jinyoung recoils and turns, pacing up and down. If Jaebeom had done such a thing, Jinyoung would be furious! He’d- he’d tear the palace down in his anger, he’d make Jaebeom regret it- _

_ No. No, he wouldn’t. He stops again. Grasps the idea in his mind, turning it this way and that. He’d be angry, but that would be small. Dwarfed by the pain, the sheer disbelief, the betrayal as Yugyeom said, crushing and aching and all-consuming. Jinyoung takes a deep breath. Blows it out again in a rush. An odd feeling comes over him, forlorn and simmering with a different hurt beneath the surface.  _

_ “Now,” Yugyeom says, softer, almost gently, “imagine that he’d pretended to care about you. Set you up in an impossible game where the only outcome seems to be your death. That you’d built faith and trust and love on his words, only to have those foundations snatched out from underneath you and be left, alone, to fall.” Jinyoung hears this and everything starts to ache. He understands what he’s done and, for the first time in his long, long life, he regrets. _

Exactly three days later, Jaebeom leaves a lecture to find Yugyeom and Mark sitting together on a low wall waiting for him. They’re glamoured visible and Jaebeom wonders if this is how Yugyeom looked when he was human; a normal, gangly blond kid, probably not even twenty yet. Jaebeom’s heart aches for him, wondering some more about how long it’s been since he became a full faery. Mark still looks unreal even with his glamour, skin impossibly smooth and features delicate and pretty, though there’s still something cold in his face, some icy Winter Court air that manifests regardless of his glamour. 

“Hi.” Jaebeom says as he approaches. They smile, Mark absently and Yugyeom apologetically. 

“Hello,” Yugyeom says softly, standing up and shoving his hands into his pockets, “how are you feeling?” Jaebeom shrugs. He’s fine. He almost overheated in the lecture theatre from all the bodies radiating warmth, but he’s alright. Yugyeom grimaces sympathetically. Mark peers at him, eyes narrowed; Jaebeom ignores him, focussing on Yugyeom. “Are you-”

“Well, that is unexpected,” Mark says abruptly, hopping to his feet and stepping right up to Jaebeom; Jaebeom leans away but doesn’t step back, not sure whether to get defensive, “all the others ended up with Autumn, but I suppose they did fail.” His breath doesn’t mist in the air either. Jaebeom tenses as he raises a hand.

“What are you talking about?” He snaps, twitching away when Mark’s fingers brush his cheek. Mark just cocks his head and raises an eyebrow, fingers hovering a centimetre from Jaebeom’s face. When Jaebeom grits his teeth but refuses to move again, he smiles and touches his face. 

Jaebeom gasps, all the tension draining out of him at once, replaced with shock; Mark’s hands are cool. Not cold, but not the burning hot of Jinyoung’s or the simmering warmth of humans he’s accidentally brushed hands with. Jaebeom stares at him, at the pale washed out blue of his narrowed eyes.

“What?” Yugyeom explodes, staring between the pair of them anxiously. Jaebeom’s tongue feels glued to the roof of his mouth as Mark takes his hand away to smile at Yugyeom.

“Jaebeom belongs to the Winter Court.” He says brightly. Yugyeom gapes at him and Jaebeom reels, staring down at his own hands, the frost-covered yellow jasmine flowers scattering up under his sleeves. “Which means I need to talk to Her Gilded Majesty. Please excuse me.” He steps back and dips into a bow before turning on his heel and walking away. Jaebeom barely glances at him as he leaves, barely sees his own hands in front of him. 

“But- that’s-” Yugyeom splutters beside him- “how? There’s never- all of the others were-” All of the others were Autumn. The ones that didn't try for the staff anyway. Jaebeom feels like he’s about to be sick. Of all the Courts, Winter… Winter is the one most deserving of Jaebeom’s long-ingrained fear. Winter fae are the most likely to be malicious, to want to hurt for no other reason than to see what the reaction is; Mark is a gentle embodiment of this, his curiosity never trumped by concern, though he’s not done anything truly cruel around Jaebeom just yet. Will he become like that? Or worse even, truly sadistic and without humanity? Jaebeom doesn’t know and he’s terrified to find out.

Jaebeom’s knees buckle and he stumbles into Yugyeom. He squawks and catches him and helps him over to the low wall, hovering anxiously around him as he puts his head between his knees and forces his breathing to even out; he’s apparently still human enough to have a panic attack, which is more reassuring than it should be. He stares unseeingly down at the pavement, watching frozen tears bounce off the stone and slowly melt into nothing.

“Are you okay?” Yugyeom asks, hushed and anxious, when he finally lifts his head again, everything settled somewhat back into place. Jaebeom huffs an unhappy laugh, dragging both hands down his face.

“No,” he mumbles, “but when has that ever mattered?” Yugyeom visibly shrinks, shoulders hunching and deep guilt passing over his face. Jaebeom sighs and shakes his head. “Not- that wasn’t directed at you.” He says, exhaustion settled deep into his bones. Yugyeom fidgets, breath rushing out in a mist.

“I have to ask,” he says in a rush and Jaebeom’s chin droops to his chest, “will you speak to His Highness?” Of course. Jaebeom hunches over again, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes and groaning aloud. Well. May as well get this over with. Jaebeom might even make it through it without screaming, if only because he has a new thing to worry about. 

“Fine,” Jaebeom sighs, standing up and folding his arms tightly, “but he comes to me-” he points over towards the park in the middle of campus; it’s started to rain, light drizzle turning the air hazy, so no one is around- “and he leaves exactly when I tell him to.” Yugyeom’s lips twitch, gleeful anticipation lighting in his eyes; he sweeps down into a bow and nods when he straightens up. 

“He’ll be along shortly.” He says, freshly eager and brimming with excitement, before turning on his heel and scarpering. Shoulders sagging, Jaebeom doesn’t share his enthusiasm, but he trudges towards the park nonetheless. 

Sure enough, he’s not left waiting long. Perched on a dead stump in the little copse of trees at the far end of the park, Jaebeom looks up to see the air tearing open when his ears pop. He doesn’t stand up, arms folded and one leg crossed over the other, watching and waiting as the image beyond resolves into a handful of figures walking towards him through a familiar throne room.

Jinyoung doesn’t look well, Jaebeom notes with a touch of incredulity. He doesn’t think faeries can get sick, but if they could, he thinks they’d look like this; Jinyoung seems to have lost weight, sallow skin pulled too tight over the bones of his face, the crown - the golden circlet he wore before, but now with beechwood grown around it, just the occasional glimmer peeking through knotted stems - weighing heavy on his head, even his cloak of leaves seeming thicker and stiffer when it ripples with his steps. His eyes flicker between colours more slowly, remaining pale and drained regardless of what hue they show, with lines at the corners and between his brows. He looks tired. Tired and sad. Jaebeom tells himself he doesn’t care even as reluctant worry simmers in his chest, but at the same time, there’s a vengeful satisfaction there too. A grim pleasure to be had in knowing that he’s not the only one that’s suffered. 

Jaebeom swallows and fights down the feeling, horror turning inward. Maybe he really does belong in the Winter Court. 

Yugyeom’s the first through the tear, scampering ahead of Jinyoung to skid to a stop beside Jaebeom, a determined look on his face when Jaebeom glances up at him. He thinks it’s because of Jinyoung’s own companion; he flanked by Jackson, but he looks almost as bad as Jinyoung, drawn and harried and avoiding eye contact.

The tear seals shut behind them. Jaebeom stands up, staring down Jinyoung who hasn’t looked away from him since spotting him. There’s something wild in his eyes, wild and desperate. The Jaebeom of a few weeks ago would have balked to see it, turned on his heel and run as far as he could as fast as he could - there’s nothing more dangerous than a desperate faery. 

But now, now Jaebeom  _ is _ a faery. A very stubborn one at that. So he holds his ground, arms folded and feet planted, as Jinyoung steps up to him, stops a few paces away and just stares at him. His eyes rake over Jaebeom’s face like it’s the first thing he’s seen in days, his throat bobbing on a sticky gulp. 

“Well?” Jaebeom snaps. Jackson flinches and Yugyeom stifles a semi-hysterical giggle, but Jinyoung just stares, ashen faced and abruptly afraid. He’s  _ scared. _ It’s written plainly on his face, but Jaebeom can’t imagine for the life of him what he might be afraid of, because it certainly can’t be him, not in and of himself. “I thought you wanted to talk to me,” Jaebeom continues derisively, “this isn’t talking.”  _ Jinyoung  _ flinches this time; he opens his mouth but nothing comes out. Jaebeom raises his eyebrows and waits, expectant, but still nothing comes. 

A long few beats pass. Jinyoung closes his mouth again, a deeply distressed expression coming to his face. Jaebeom’s heart lurches, aching in his chest to see sparkling golden tears bead at the corners of Jinyoung’s eyes, but at the same time he doesn’t trust it. Jinyoung has proven himself to be a liar, a manipulator, pulling Jaebeom’s strings to get what he wants and Jaebeom won’t let himself fall for it, not this time. He doesn’t think he can handle being crushed like that again. So, no matter how much it hurts to do so, he tears his gaze away and turns around. 

“Wait-” splits the silence, sounding unwillingly torn from Jinyoung’s throat, thin and reedy and laced with anguish; Jaebeom pauses, looking up at the steel grey sky to try and will away the lump in his throat, before taking a single, decisive step forwards, then another, one at a time- “Jaebeom, please, wait!” There’s such desperation, shameless and begging, in his voice that Jaebeom freezes without thinking. He squeezes his eyes shut, rubs them with his fingertips to dislodge the few tears clinging to his eyelashes, then opens them again and glares back over his shoulder. 

Jinyoung, a few steps forwards from where he was, lowers the hand he’d raised as though trying to grab him. He takes a deep breath, eyes rimmed with red and his cheeks stained with wet golden tracks, before opening his mouth again.

“I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so!!! realisations and drama abound!! let me know your thoughts!!! either down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! I really wanna hear them hehehe <3 also!! there won't be a chapter next weekend as im very busy from Friday through to the next Thursday, so i'm just going to skip a week!! sorry for the wait T~T but thank you as always for reading guys, the love and interest this story has been getting has blown me away T^T thank u so much!!


	13. Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys, sorry for the wait!! I hope u enjoy this chapter, it has some of my favourite descriptive bits in it hehe <3 the song for this chapter is [TeZaTalks - Beg]() which is so good and really relevant so please check it out!!!! <3 as always, thank u so much for your continued support T~T <3

_ “What do I do?” Jinyoung finds himself asking. He doesn’t even recognise his own voice, thin and weak and pathetic. Yugyeom cocks his head.  _

_ “Do you regret what you did?” He asks, his smugness for once nowhere to be found, instead replaced by sympathy and no small amount of wonder. Jinyoung tries to swallow but it feels like something’s lodged in his throat, thick and obstructing his breathing. He nods when he can’t push words past it, dull fear gripping his chest as he struggles for breath; he feels strange, lightheaded yet heavy as lead at the same time, tight shivers wracking his body. Is this how Jaebeom felt, when the Princess told him what was to come? No, a horrid voice spits, no, he would have felt worse. He believed he would die after all, die because Jinyoung set him up to an impossible task, that Jinyoung didn’t care about him beyond a pawn in a stupid little game.  _

_ But, he only now realises, Jinyoung did care. Does care. It’s the name to the then-nameless dread he felt watching Jaebeom get hurt, risk his life, the horror and pain he felt watching him walk away, the emptiness he feels when he considers the possibility of never seeing him again. Jinyoung’s eyes, his chest, his whole body aches and his sight swims, blurring and distorting until something wet rolls down his face. What has he done? _

_ “Your Highness?” Yugyeom asks tentatively. Jinyoung had quite forgotten he was there; he lifts his head, staring wide-eyed at him. He stares back astonished, but there’s an edge to his gaze, some little sadistic glint to his eyes. Jinyoung supposes he can’t begrudge him that.  _

_ “I need to talk to him,” he rasps, voice hoarse and quiet, “please.”  _

Jaebeom reels. He turns around fully, staring at Jinyoung in disbelief, but he just lifts his chin a fraction higher and repeats himself.

“I’m sorry, Jaebeom.” His voice is shot, threatening to crack at any moment. Jaebeom gapes at him and his nerve breaks, eyes dropping to the wilted grass. “I shouldn’t have- I- I didn’t-” He stutters, weak and halting. Something in Jaebeom’s chest draws tight and snaps, cold anger spilling into the cavity his heart used to occupy.

“Oh, you’re sorry,” he hisses, hearing his own voice twist and distort as though from a distance; Jinyoung’s jaw snaps shut and he starts to shake, fingers twisting into fists, but he doesn’t say anything, “do you even understand what you did? As fucking stupid as it was, I  _ trusted _ you and you set me up to  _ die _ -” Jaebeom barks a scathing laugh, baring his teeth- “sorry isn’t  _ good enough _ !” So much for reconsidering if Jinyoung apologised; Jaebeom can’t bring himself to regret yelling it though, no matter how much it hurts watching Jinyoung’s face crumple, still angled towards the ground. Glistening tears slide from his eyes, leaving fresh golden trails down his cheeks. What’s left of his heart shredding into pieces all over again, Jaebeom turns around again as a pathetic sob of his own tears itself from his throat, wiping frozen tears from his cheeks and stalking away.

There’s a muffled thump and a pair of astonished gasps from behind him. Halfway across the clearing, Jaebeom stops. He waits, cursing himself, wet eyes squeezed shut, listening to Jinyoung dragging in a ragged breath, one and another and another until he finally speaks again.

“I never believed you would die.” Jinyoung says, hoarse and broken. Jaebeom coughs a hysterical laugh.

“You fucking liar.” He spits, rooted to the ground and burying his face in his hands to muffle a frustrated shout into them. 

“No, I am telling you the truth, I swear to you.” He insists, voice shaking with desperation. Jaebeom knows it must be the truth in some form, but he’s damned if he’s going to believe a word he says. “I always believed you would succeed. I- I always did. With all of those who tried. I had to.” There’s something raw behind his words, aching and miserable. “I am not wholly the monster you believe me to be, I never- I didn’t enjoy seeing them die. I honestly believed in them, in you, because if I didn’t- how could I ask?” Jaebeom opens his eyes, staring blindly at the trees, the playing field, the slowly bustling street beyond. There’s movement behind him, two pairs of footsteps scarpering away.

“How do you expect me to believe you?” He asks, exhausted, barely a breath behind it. Jinyoung takes another deep breath.

“Jaebeom,” he rasps, quietly hopeless, “please, would you turn around?” Reluctantly, hating his own weakness, Jaebeom does as he’s asked and turns, only to freeze in place, stinging eyes wide and disbelieving. Jinyoung, on his knees in the dirt, stares up at him, face stained gold with his cloak spread out behind him. His lips wobble, twitching like he’s trying and failing to smile, eyes deep-set and bruised. “I give you my word, I will never lie to you again,” he says, soft and cracked and reverent, “I will tell you the whole truth whenever you ask it of me.” He pauses, managing a small rueful smile when Jaebeom tenses defensively - the word of a liar means nothing. “This I swear to you on the Court itself. May I be cast out in disgrace should I ever break this vow.” This, this Jaebeom  _ feels _ . A force shakes the very ground, shivering with an ancient power, something intangible shimmering in the air between them. Jaebeom’s mouth drops open, a shocked breath hissing out of him. “So please, I ask that you believe me when I say that I am truly, deeply sorry for what I have done to you.” He bows his head again, hair falling in a limp black curtain in front of his wet eyes. Jaebeom draws in a deep breath, lets it out in a rush, then takes another to hold it.

“How can I?” He says, weaker than he wants it to be, shaking and sad. “You’ve proven that I can’t trust you.” But even as he says it, the pathetic little strings of hope linking the cavity in his chest to Jinyoung’s crumpled form start wrapping around each other, weaving into a frayed rope, because he  _ can’t  _ be lying, not with an oath like that. Jinyoung lifts his head enough to stare past Jaebeom’s shoulder, a grimly understanding smile twisting his lips. 

“All I ask is that you give me a chance to prove otherwise.” He whispers, eyes flicking up to meet Jaebeom’s then away again, his shoulders hunching miserably. Jaebeom’s chest is tight, each breath laboured and his throat closed; he opens his mouth but nothing comes out, caught halfway between possible answers.

But before he can make a decision, they’re interrupted by a rushing noise. Jaebeom’s ears pop and the tear reopens between two trees, but beyond is somewhere different. Somewhere dark, lit only by shards of gently glowing crystal and dull moonlight, the soft light glittering off the polished facets and razor sharp edges of a gate carved from seamless blue topaz, stood open enough to allow a single figure to pass through. Mark, dressed in fine clothes of white and ice blue, wings fluttering behind him; he steps out onto the grass, frost collecting around his feet.

“Jaebeom,” he says, with a smile and without a glance at Jinyoung, “Her Gilded Majesty, the Queen of Winter and the Unseelie Courts, requests an audience with you.” Jaebeom, tongue-tied, just stares at him. Jinyoung’s breath hisses in through his teeth and he stiffly picks himself up; Mark glances at him and bows his head politely, but his expectant expression doesn’t change. “At your earliest convenience.” He prompts after a few seconds’ silence, amiably meaning  _ now _ . Jaebeom swallows thickly, glancing at Jinyoung with a measure of regret. He’s glowering at the floor, puffy eyes narrowed and gold still sparkling on his cheeks, but he doesn’t protest. Can’t protest, Jaebeom suspects, he’s outranked by the Winter Queen after all, but still, it is telling that he remains silent.

“Alright,” Jaebeom manages to wheeze, abject terror starting to simmer in his belly, “lead the way.” Mark smiles and bows and sweeps a hand towards the gate, watching Jaebeom through hawk-like eyes as he staggers forwards, feet crunching through the grass that’s frozen around him. He glances back as his feet hit cold marble, catching a fleeting glimpse of Jinyoung’s hunched form before the tear slices shut and he’s left staring out over a frozen tundra. Rolling fields, covered in pure untouched snow, stretching away below a cloudless washed out sky towards pine forests clinging to the edges of mountains in the distances. Jaebeom sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a rush, the barest hint of mist spilling from his mouth. For once, somewhere is colder than he is. 

“Please.” Mark says behind him, making him jump. He whirls, wide eyes finding Mark, who’s gesturing through the topaz doors which are slowly swinging open. Beyond is a narrow hall, not the grand throne room of Jinyoung’s Court, but a corridor off which many doors lead, a larger set of black wooden double doors standing at the end, glittering in the blue flamed braziers with a frosting of quartz along the hinges and seams. It seems deserted, utterly silent besides the low howling of distant wind. “Follow the hall, through the doors.” He says, stepping aside with an unreadable little smile. Jaebeom gulps. 

“Aren’t you-” He stammers, but Mark shakes his head before he can finish.

“No. Her Gilded Majesty requested an audience alone.” Hah. Still with the requested. That’s a good one. Jaebeom sighs, chewing on the inside of his lip and worrying one of his piercings, but he still steps forwards into the hall. The floor is solid ice, perfectly clear and stretching down below him so far it just turns black. The walls between the doors are polished to a shine, their dark mirrored surfaces reflecting a washed-out, blue-lit image of himself as he walks forwards. It shivers, shifting and blurring at the edges, ghostly impressions fading in and out around him; a dark feathered cloak fluttering from his shoulders, snow flurrying around him, a wreath of burnt black and frost-covered branches hovering above his head. When a pair of blood red eyes blink back at him from behind his shoulder, Jaebeom stops looking. 

The second set of doors swings open for him as he approaches. Beyond is the throne room proper; vaulted marble ceiling far above, the room huge and circular, the throne itself standing on a dais and wrought of obsidian, the back stretching high into twisting columns set with fist-sized raw lapis lazuli and amethysts and the seat lined with sapphire blue velvet, all of it sparkling with frost. It’s even colder in here, so cold Jaebeom feels like he might shiver as he steps inside, but it’s somehow pleasant too. It’s empty though, not a soul in sight in the room or through the few of the doors lining the walls that stand open, more blue flame torches flickering between them. 

He steps up to the dais, not sure what else to do, examining the throne then craning his neck to look up at the ceiling. More light filters down from the stained glass lining it in triangular sections, eight of them arranged in an octagon. The images and shapes depicted seem to writhe, moving between already twisted pictures, Jaebeom’s head pounding as he watches.

“You must be Jaebeom.” A brisk voice says behind him. Strangely, it doesn’t make him jump, despite undoubtedly coming out of nowhere; no, it feels like a presence he’s known for years, like this is normal, like he’s used to existing in this space. Unnerved probably more so than he would have been had it just made him jump, Jaebeom turns around. Between him and the door he came in through, stands another faery. It’s tall, taller than him, and painfully thin, wearing an intricately embroidered tunic in whites and ice blues with a cloak seemingly crafted from a paper-thin sheet of ice tumbling from its shoulders. It’s beautiful in a very unsettling faery way; it’s not pretty or pleasant to look at, the bones standing out in its face prominent and too numerous, corpse-blue lips turned down at the corners and sharp eyebrows naturally set into a frown over shifting eyes, cycling through cold blues and violets and greys, but there’s a cruel beauty to it too. Its hair is short and shockingly white and nestled in the rustling waves is a delicate silvery-blue crown. It taps the cane its holding, black wood carved into an intricate pattern with the grooves filled in with the same material as the crown, against the floor, a pure resounding note ringing out from the ice, and inclines its head, one eyebrow arching expectantly. 

“Ah- yes. That’s me. Your Majesty.” Jaebeom babbles in panic, pure dread spearing through him; he drops into the lowest bow he can, wide eyes staring through the ice below. Another tap, another chiming note, then a few steps forwards.

“Stand up.” It says sharply. Jaebeom obeys, gasping in a breath and staring at it in pure terror. “I appreciate you taking the time to speak with me-” yes, because he definitely had a choice about that- “I am the Queen of Winter and the Unseelie Courts. A pleasure to meet you.” A wry smile twitches her lips up a fraction, but it does nothing to relieve the severity of her face. Jaebeom wheezes an approximation of a laugh in return. She takes another step forwards, then to the side, gesturing off towards one of the open doors. “Walk with me.” She sets off without even a glance to see if Jaebeom follows; he does, of course, stumbling and falling into step a little behind her. 

She leads him through the door, into a corridor much like the one before. He glances at the walls without thinking and instantly regrets it; the Queen’s reflection is horrifying, a terrible twisted thing he fears he’ll see in his nightmares for the rest of his life. Instead he stares downwards, preferring the frozen abyss stretching below than the monstrosities on the walls. The Queen remains silent as they walk, bootheels tapping on the ice but the cane carried above, a white-gloved hand grasping it by the middle. 

Soon, the corridor ends, another pair of frost-covered doors swinging open to reveal- a castle wall. The outside of one, a long walkway leading from the tower they’ve just exited to another, a clear crystal parapet the only thing between them and an eighty foot drop to a roiling steel-grey sea and black rocks below. Jaebeom staggers to a stop, head spinning and ears popping at the sudden change in altitude - surely they’d just been at ground level? How did they get up here through just a corridor? And where did the sea come from? He rubs his eyes, pressing fingertips into his temple and shaking his spinning head to try and clear it. 

Something cold touches his chin, lifting his head back up. His eyes pop wide, staring in disbelief at the Queen. Her eyes are slightly narrowed, tipping his chin up with the metal handle of her cane, before she moves it to tap his forehead once. Instantly, the confusion and dizziness and ache clears, dissipating into nothing. 

“You’ll become accustomed.” She says, turning in a flurry of translucent cloak and striding out to the parapet. She leans out over it, staring out towards the sea. Stricken, Jaebeom doesn’t know whether to follow and join her or just stay where he is; he ends up taking a few steps forwards then freezing when she moves, looking back at him over her shoulder critically. “Mark is right. You’re almost fully of Winter now.” Jaebeom’s breath shakes out of him; well, it doesn’t get more official than that. “It’s not something to fear. I know the reputation of my Court and it is not unwarranted, but it is not all we are.” She smiles and it feels genuine; it warms her face a little, makes it less cruel and alien. But Jaebeom’s not stupid, not anymore, so he just smiles tightly and remains unconvinced. “I’m not going to lie to you, Jaebeom. Half truths are necessary at times, but they are ugly. Among our own, within these boundaries, we do not use them. We of Winter all take that oath.” And again, Jaebeom feels that same shudder, the very fabric of this place shaking with the force of those words and once again he can’t help but reluctantly begin to believe them. “Now,” she says, “with that in mind, tell me what it is you are to His Fell Highness.” Oh. Of course. Jaebeom looks away, swallowing stickily. That is a very good question.

“I don’t know.” He mumbles. He looks down, watching waves break against jagged stone. “I- everyone says he loves me. But I- don’t know.” His chest aches again, scooped hollow. There’s a hum beside him.

“Her Verdant Highness’ prophecy was clear in the eyes of the Courts. You broke through the magic because His Fell Highness is in love with you and you with him-” a bubble of incredulous laughter bursts from Jaebeom’s mouth before he can stop himself, but she doesn’t seem offended- “if either of you were not, you would be dead.  _ Its love returned.  _ That is how you are alive to be having this conversation, Jaebeom.” Jaebeom shakes his head - more in despair than disagreement - and leans against the crystal wall, sharp cold sinking into him through his palms, up his arms, settling into his core. 

“Jin-  _ His Highness  _ doesn’t know how to love someone.” He counters weakly, miserable and resigned. If he did, maybe things would be different now. There’s a short bark of laughter, something that shocks Jaebeom enough to look back at the Queen. She’s smiling again, needle sharp teeth lining her mouth.

“I shan’t argue that,” she says amusedly, “but does anyone really know? Humans even, let alone the Fair Folk.” She cocks her head, eyes settling on a grey so pale it’s almost white, ringed by a thin line of ice blue. Jaebeom locks his jaw and looks away again.

“Maybe not,” he grits out, “but humans don’t usually set you up to die.” Another peal of laughter, this one longer and brighter.

“Again, I shan’t argue,” she chuckles, “but it seems His Highness is seeking your forgiveness for that.” Jaebeom stays silent. “Will you grant him what he seeks?” She asks, amiable and apparently unwilling to drop the subject. Jaebeom rubs his eyes, elbows still on the crystal wall.

“I don’t know.” He admits miserably. He’s still of two minds; he wants both to forgive and not at the same time, the factions warring in his own head. The Queen hums again.

“Well, knowing His Fell Highness, he won’t stop trying for it,” she muses, “and that, I’ll admit, is partially why you are here.” Ah, of course, the ulterior motive. “It is customary for a Court ruler to welcome new folk personally, but there are extenuating circumstances raising the importance of that custom in your case, considering your existing connection to another Court, an Unseelie Court no less-” She’s staring at Jaebeom meaningfully when he sighs and looks over at her again. He thinks he knows where this is going.

“You want me to spy on him for you, don’t you?” He asks flatly, too exhausted to beat around the bush politely. But she just grins, eyes sparkling.

“You suit the Courts more than you realise, little one-” Jaebeom’s hackles raise at the condescending endearment, but she takes no notice- “yes, that is what I want from you. His Highness can be impulsive. He is my vassal as the Unseelie Prince so he does answer to me, but he’s erratic at times. Mark and Youngjae spend a great deal of time in the Autumn Court, but I’d like closer eyes, just to keep one on him. And since the two of you are-” she coughs politely- “involved, or have been at least, it seems as good a way as any.” Jaebeom sighs again, heavily. Of course. 

“Can I say no?” He asks, possibly unwisely. The Queen purses her lips.

“It is my understanding that messy affairs like the one between you and His Highness can be, ah-” she tilts her head, searching for a word- “painful?” She offers, a question with no small amount of baffled incomprehension in her eyes; Jaebeom locks his jaw and says nothing, but that’s enough of an answer. “So yes, in this you may refuse.” _ For now  _ goes unsaid but Jaebeom hears it loud and clear. In that case, he really should say no. Cut ties with Jinyoung altogether, at least until his heart mends a little or he’s told rather than asked, whichever comes first. But, a traitorous corner of his brain whispers,  _ but _ , isn’t this a perfect set up? Giving him the excuse to be around Jinyoung without having to admit that he wants to be there, stupid as it may be?

But no, that’s not fair. That’s him doing what faeries do, making excuses and telling half-truths to twist the full thing to his advantage. No, he might be one now, but he’s not going to stoop to their level.

“Can I tell him that I’m- reporting to you?” He asks, voice cracking, the weight of his decision bowing his head.

“Of course,” the Queen says lightly, confusedly, “the how of it doesn’t matter, only the result. Tell me if he’s about to do something impulsive, I don’t care how you find out. I likely won’t do anything about it, it’s just good to know these things.” She waves an airy hand, then plants her chin onto it, staring at Jaebeom curiously. Jaebeom tries not to bristle, staring down at his own hands clenched on the edge of the wall and wondering why he does these things to himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so!!! a little more development hehehe :^) hope u enjoyed!! please let me know your thoughts either down below in the comments or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!! only two more chapters left now T~T I've had so much fun writing this story hehe I hope u are all still enjoying it!!


	14. Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey friends!!! second to last chapter is here!! its been a ride huh :^) I hope you enjoy this!! there are two songs for this chapter: [we are fury - don't know why feat danyka nadeau](https://youtu.be/OI0cuu7DJd4) and [melis - so called love](https://youtu.be/ZjqPl4j_uxA) both are very good and very apt so please go give them a listen!!! <3

_ Jaebeom turns away from him and there’s nothing Jinyoung can do about it. Not when it’s at the Queen’s bequest. Not when Jaebeom would never turn back to him of his own will. No, Jinyoung watches him step through the rift, watches him shiver, his fear from the beginning of all of this settling heavily onto him once again. Mark meets Jinyoung’s eyes as the tear slices shut, amusement mingling with curiosity, a common expression on his face, but there’s something else there too. Something Jinyoung can only call a warning, but of what, Jinyoung does not know. He finds that he doesn’t really care. What more can go wrong now? _

_ But then, just before it fully seals, Jaebeom looks back over his shoulder, fear written on his face and something below it that sits on the tip of Jinyoung’s tongue but just escapes him. Something tugs in Jinyoung’s chest, so unfamiliar he almost can’t name it; he’s  _ worried _ . Fearful himself, wishing he was there with Jaebeom, even if there’s no way Jaebeom would want him there in turn. He wants to  _ protect  _ him. Jinyoung doesn’t know if he’s ever wanted to protect anything that wasn’t himself before. _

_ He’s not sure how long he stands there, waiting, watching the air, just in case the rift tears back open. Long enough for the light to change to burnt orange and for Yugyeom and Jackson to return. They daren’t come too close, hovering in the treeline watching him stand there. Again, Jinyoung doesn’t care. There’s no room left in him to care, the whole of him filled with a resounding ache, a deep, pulsing regret that stains his every thought.  _

_ “Your Highness,” Jackson mumbles, “I don’t think- he’s coming back. Not to here.” He says hesitantly. Jinyoung takes a slow breath. _

_ “I know.” He sighs. Jackson clears his throat, clearly at a loss for what to say next. Jinyoung doesn’t prompt anything and Yugyeom shifts from foot to foot behind him, bouncing on his heels when Jinyoung finally moves, turning to look between them. He seems anxious, though certainly not about Jinyoung. _

_ “Is he going to be okay? Her Majesty is-” He stammers, looking between Jackson and Jinyoung for some reassurance. Jackson, who Jinyoung knows fears the Winter Queen more than anything else, blanches and shrinks, folding his arms over his chest and shivering.  _

_ “Her Gilded Majesty is always fair to her own folk.” Jinyoung says distantly. He barely recognises his own voice, rough and torn and ruined. Jackson doesn’t look appeased but Yugyeom looks reluctantly reassured. _

_ “Well, since- Jaebeom is- he should be fine. Right?” He asks, desperate for outright confirmation. Jinyoung nods absently, barely registering the movement. Jaebeom is, after all, one of her folk. It had never even occurred to him that he might not be of Autumn too; every other was and there are plenty of Jinyoung’s folk with similar traits, the cold, the tattoos. But now, now it is obvious, the deeper chill surrounding him, the very ground freezing beneath his feet. More intangible, the aura surrounding him, he himself changed into something bitter and angry and untouchable, possessed of that particular frigid pride that holds the Winter Court upright.  _

_ But no, when Jinyoung considers it truly, he can see nothing  _ has  _ changed. Rather, something has emerged, brought forwards and pulled into a brighter light. Something that was always there, dormant, deep below the surface. Something powerful, something terrible and beautiful in equal parts, something Jinyoung barely dares regard, let alone approach, let alone hope to bring back to his side. Jaebeom’s reformation is almost complete. When it is, he will be a force to be reckoned with.  _

_ “Your Highness?” Jackson’s tentative question drags Jinyoung out of his mind. Taking a settling breath, Jinyoung looks at him, brow pinched. He smiles shakily. “Shall we take our leave?” His voice is hushed, like someone could be listening in. Yugyeom says nothing, staring at Jinyoung with something approaching wonder.  _

_ “Go on. I will make my own way back.” He says, a strange heaviness weighing him down, rooting him into the ground. But neither of them move, Jackson concerned and Yugyeom still in awe. Jinyoung draws himself up and arches an eyebrow, trying to muster some shred of authority, though he fears it will do no good - these two saw him fall to his knees in desperation and sorrow after all, how can he return from something such as that? Still, it’s enough for Yugyeom to shrink a little and Jackson to shift his weight and bow his head. _

_ “You’re crying again.” Yugyeom blurts despite his cowering, wincing and skirting around behind Jackson when Jinyoung’s breath hisses out through his teeth. He isn’t wrong though, as Jinyoung raises a hand to his face only for his fingers to come back wet and stained gold. Scoffing at himself, he dashes his cheeks on the back of his hand and turns away from the pair. _

_ “Go on.” He repeats, anger bubbling in his belly, but it’s anger at himself, at his own foolishness. Here he is crying, lamenting a situation entirely his own making, but right now there’s nothing he can do to fix it, not while the Queen has her claws in Jaebeom and maybe not even when she lets go. There’s a sigh and footsteps heading away behind him, but only one pair. Jinyoung shuts his eyes, wondering which of them he’s going to have to fend off.  _

_ “Jinyoung-” Jackson, of course- “he won’t come back through here. And even if he did, it might not be for a long time.” He says, ever so reasonably.  _

_ “I know,” Jinyoung grits out, again, “I am not waiting for him, I wish to be alone.” He needs time to think, alone, of the best path forwards. About where he can go from here, how he can proceed such that he shan’t be discarded. Guilt, something he’s never had cause to feel before, wracks him; is this how all of the others felt? Cast aside, thrown away, no longer worth any regard? This too, another thing he must think on. He’s never considered himself cruel, cruelty the purview of Winter and the Queen, but now, now he’s coming to realise how much he himself did not understand, how cruelty does not have to be wilful and deliberate to cut to the bone.  _

_ “Your Highness-” Jackson’s voice cuts through his preoccupation, sharp and raised like he’s been trying for a while; Jinyoung opens his eyes and turns, looking at his oldest friend. Jackson, features pinched and tired, guilty too, lifts a hand and grasps Jinyoung’s shoulder. He smiles grimly, but there’s a little light, a glimmer of his usual hopefulness deep in his eyes. “He will give you a chance. You just need to be patient.” He says it softly but confidently, not even entertaining the possibility that he’s wrong. How Jinyoung wishes he had such certainty.  _

The Queen takes her leave shortly, whisked away by an attendant, a faery in the shape of an arm-length dragon, its scales deep sapphire with white steam rising from its snout. She bows to Jaebeom and smiles vaguely, leaving him alone atop the parapet, staring out over the roiling sea, storm grey and almost the same colour as the cloudless sky. Here, too, there’s no sun, the world lit by a suffuse directionless light that seems to suck the colour out of everything. 

Jaebeom looks down at his hands, clasped together with his forearms on the crystal barrier. The vines on his skin twist, coiling around his wrists, sprouting flat leaves, some round and dark green, some whitish and pointed like a maple leaf, frozen beads of water settled onto them. Poplar, black and white,  _ courage  _ and  _ time _ . On the back of his left hand, a single snowdrop blooms as he watches, heavy and slow as though struggling to rise, but rise it does. 

“Feeling hopeful I see,” a familiar voice says behind Jaebeom; again, it doesn’t make him jump, but it’s less unnerving this time around, “I hear His Highness has been grovelling.” Youngjae says, light and amused, coming to lean against the wall beside Jaebeom. He’s wearing a light shirt and trousers, the sleeves rolled up out of the way of the spurs lining his forearms. 

“I don’t know if I’d call it that.” Jaebeom mumbles, though the image it conjures isn’t unappealing. Youngjae snorts, third eyelid slicing over his sclera as he side-eyes him.

“Never, for as long as he has been Prince, has His Fell Highness ever fallen to his knees. Not for the Winter Queen, nor the Summer King, or for anyone,” Youngjae says, a note of wonder in his musical voice, “but he did for you. So I’d say that classes as grovelling.” His voice lilts, turning a little cheeky at the last phrase. Jaebeom huffs, head dropping into his hands. 

“I don’t know what to do.” He confesses. Youngjae barks a loud laugh, but it sounds more alarmed than mirthful.

“I really don’t think I’m the person to ask.” He says, definitely alarmed. Jaebeom snorts, amused despite himself, glancing over at him with both eyebrows raised. “I mean it,” he insists, pale eyes wide and a grimace on his face, “your whole- feelings- love- thing- seems exhausting. I’d rather not know.” He shivers, like he can’t imagine anything worse, scratching at the scales on the back of his hand and looking down at the crashing waves below. Jaebeom bursts into laughter. He’s not entirely sure what comes over him, burying his face in his hands and giggling hysterically into them. “See, this is what love does to you, it drives you mad.” This doesn’t help; Jaebeom’s knees buckle and he sinks to the stone floor, managing to twist so he’s leaning against the crystal wall. He curls into a ball, shoulders shaking as he laughs uncontrollably into his arms. It quickly dissolves into crying, frozen tears scattering Jaebeom’s lap and clinking on the flagstones. There’s a heavy, long-suffering sigh next to him, then a cool hand lands on his shoulder, patting it awkwardly. “There there,” Youngjae says, plastic and unconvincing, “everything’s going to be alright.” Another wet laugh bubbles up out of Jaebeom, but it doesn’t stop him crying. 

“What- oh.” Another familiar voice says, also mildly alarmed. Mark. Jaebeom scrubs his eyes on his sleeves and lifts his head, resting his chin on his arms. Mark stares at him from the doorway leading back into the castle, vaguely worried confusion on his face. “Is- everything alright?” He asks with some trepidation, like he doesn’t really want to know the answer. Jaebeom snorts, glancing back at Youngjae, who looks stricken, one hand still outstretched in his attempt at comfort. 

“You guys really aren’t good at this.” He says, rough and nasal. Mark looks mildly offended, but Youngjae just nods frantically, eyes widening.

“Yes, so please don’t do that anymore.” He says emphatically. Jaebeom’s lips twitch up despite himself and he looks away, staring down at the battered flagstones.

“I’ll try.” He mumbles. That might be easier said than done.

“Why are you crying?” Mark asks, some genuine note of concern beneath his curiosity. Jaebeom swallows thickly and considers the question.

“Because-” his voice cracks, giving out into nothing; he takes a breath, blinking his sight clear and listening to the tinkle of ice on stone- “because everyone’s- right. I do- I am in love with Jinyoung.” His voice breaks on Jinyoung’s name. Mark sighs and Youngjae, for all his protests, pats Jaebeom’s shoulder again. “And I can’t decide if I wish I wasn’t.” Jaebeom shuts his eyes, burying his face in his forearms again. Everything aches, dull but insistent, and he’s so tired. Tired of changing, tired of lies, tired of all of this. He just wants things to go back to normal. Something, anything normal. 

“Well,” Youngjae sighs, tone irritated but the hand on Jaebeom’s shoulder squeezes gently, rubbing up and down in soothing circles, “when I face options like this, I just pick the easiest one.” Mark scoffs and footsteps pad over to them. Jaebeom doesn’t look up. The easier option. That would probably be telling Jinyoung once and for all to leave him alone; one unpleasant conversation and then, nothing. He goes away and Jaebeom gets on with his life. Easy.

“What if the easy option is the worse one?” Mark says disapprovingly. Youngjae squawks and his hand vanishes; Jaebeom lifts his head, glancing up at them to see Mark gripping the back of Youngjae’s neck and shaking him gently while Youngjae grumbles and flaps a clawed hand at him.

“Well then obviously the options aren’t equal, so you pick the best one!” He retorts, going on to say something else but Jaebeom stops listening after that. If the options aren’t equal, pick the best one; are his options equal? Cutting Jinyoung off or giving him another chance? The first is easy, the second is hard. So much harder and it might not even pay off, he might just- not come through. Fail to listen, fail to actually try and then all of Jaebeom’s effort would be for nothing. 

But what if he doesn’t, a little voice whispers, what if he does change? What if he does make the effort? If they can go from this mess to something real and meaningful, something like how it was before the ceremony but without any fear? Wouldn’t that be worth making the hard choice? 

Jaebeom stands up. Youngjae and Mark fall silent, their bickering forgotten as they look up at him quizzically. 

“I appreciate your help.” He says distractedly, shooting a vague wobbly smile at them before turning for the door. There’s confused whispering behind him but he pays it no mind, striding for the doorway; something shakes in his mind, some rush of magic spreading through him and without thinking he grasps ahold of it and directs it forwards and, ahead of him, the door changes. The air splits open, revealing a familiar set of ornate wooden doors; he’s not sure how he knows this is the right place to go, but know he does. Jaebeom steps through the tear and releases his grip on that magic, the rift sealing shut behind him with a dull pop.

Steeling himself, he steps forwards, raises a fist and hammers on the doors to Jinyoung’s quarters.

_ Someone knocks. Jinyoung pauses pacing his bedchambers, utterly baffled. His quarters, this whole floor, nobody comes here without his permission. Usually, this would enrage him, enough to storm outside and mete out punishment, but now, today, as things stand, he can’t find the will to care. He has much bigger things to worry about. _

_ “Who’s there?” He calls through the curtain of vines, at least with enough wherewithal to  _ sound  _ angry; maybe it will be enough to scare whomever it is away, then he can pretend it never happened. But that is most certainly not what happens. _

_ “Open the door.” Jaebeom demands. Jaebeom. Jaebeom is here and he sounds just as angry as Jinyoung pretended to. Jinyoung gapes in the direction of the door, at the vines swaying gently between him and it. He’s stunned still, not sure what to do, his body numb and refusing to move. He’s not even sure what he wants to do; a great deal of him wants to sprint for the door, rip them aside and- what, he’s not sure. Gather Jaebeom into his arms, fall to his knees in regret again, just look at him, committing him to memory in case this is the last time he’ll ever see him. But other, smaller, weaker parts want to hide, shame-faced, not wanting to see the coldness, the rejection in his eyes that Jinyoung fears is inevitable.  _

_ “Jinyoung, I know you’re in there.” He speaks again, voice tight and frustrated. Jinyoung’s breath rushes out of him in a gasp and he stumbles forwards, shoving vines aside and willing the doors to swing open.  _

_ Jaebeom truly does belong to Winter. It’s written all over him, not only in the freezing aura surrounding him, in the icy vines shifting on his skin, but in his posture, wound tight and rigid and poised to shatter, in his face, that cold, haughty pride carved into its slightly shifted shape. But then, when his eyes meet Jinyoung’s, some of his ice thaws. His eyes, shifting colours, melt into something warm but uncertain, wary but glistening with something Jinyoung’s daren’t name hope. He licks his lips, flush pink and soft with the rings through the lower flashing in the dull light, and breathes a deep breath, before stepping forwards into the room. _

_ Jinyoung, rooted to the ground behind his throne, watches Jaebeom enter, resignation settled heavy onto his shoulders. It’s not a feeling he’s familiar with; he is the Prince of Autumn, he does not settle, he is never resigned to his fate, he changes it. But this. This is not something he can change.  _ Jaebeom  _ is not something he can change. Jaebeom, he is learning far too late, is not some  _ thing  _ at all. _

_ He rounds Jinyoung’s throne, stopping mere feet away from him. He folds his arms, squaring his stance and frowning. He looks so different from the scared beautiful man he was before, but still so similar. Still beautiful, now dripping with hurt and distrust, but no longer scared. _

_ “The Winter Queen asked me to do something for her.” He says, forthright and inflectionless. His voice chimes, pure tones like metal striking ice ringing below his words. Jinyoung feels like crying again, wishing desperately to know how he sounds now when he’s happy.  _

_ “I see,” Jinyoung croaks, “may I ask what?” Something about this shocks Jaebeom, enough that his lips part and brow smoothes, eyes widening from their narrowed glare, though Jinyoung’s not sure what it is. Something else flashes in his eyes, something soft and sad and flickering. Something like care. _

_ “She asked me to keep an eye on you. Report your movements. Spy, I guess.” He says when the moment has passed, brow creasing again and, once again, he brings Jinyoung up short. Jinyoung’s mouth drops open and he drags in a rattling breath. _

_ “Why- would you tell me that?” He asks, utterly lost. That sad look comes back but this time, his whole frame softens, shoulders dropping from their defensive hunch and his head tilting slightly. His hair, soft and black and a little damp from half-melted frost, a little wavy, falls into his eyes. Jinyoung flinches and clasps his hands together to quell the urge to reach out and brush it aside, his whole chest aching to know he’s not able to do that anymore. _

_ “Because I’m not going to lie to you.” He says, even and quiet but barbed just by the context. Jinyoung swallows a hiss and bows his head. _

_ “That is- good of you.” He grits out, willing away the pressure building in his throat, behind his eyes, regret weighing heavy in his belly. There's a beat of silence, then a soft sigh.  _

_ "Jinyoung," he says, frustrated yet reluctantly fond, "look at me." Jinyoung barely dares lift his head, but he does so nonetheless. "You asked me to give you another chance." He states, brows pulling together. His heart in his dry throat, Jinyoung nods. Jaebeom shifts, chewing on the inside of his lip; he looks torn, conflicted, but his eyes are bright and stay locked with Jinyoung's. Jinyoung wouldn't dare say anything even if his voice worked. “I-” his voice sticks, trembling but not quite breaking; he pauses, swallows, eyes dropping to the floor between them, frost-laced eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks- “I want- to-” another crack and he grimaces, teeth gritting and eyes screwing up at the corners- “I want to give you one. But- I-” He stutters, searching for the words, but Jinyoung barely hears any more over the rushing in his ears. He can’t quite believe  _ what  _ he’s hearing, gaping like a fool when Jaebeom wrenches his gaze back up. “I want to give you a chance,” he repeats, firmer, like now his mind is made up and there’s no changing it, a defiant, proud spark lighting him from the inside, “but there are some things we need to discuss first. Ground rules.” He says firmly, chin high; Jinyoung nods again, frantically. Anything, anything at all if he can try and make things right. “And if you ever do anything like that to me again, I will make you regret it.” He says icily, his eyes lighting on fire. Jinyoung believes him and, considering how much he regrets hurting him even once, he thinks he wouldn’t stand in the way of such a fate. _

_ “Jaebeom.” He manages to gasp, chest too tight to draw breath, but he needs to speak around it. The bale-fire blazing behind Jaebeom’s eyes dims, softening to a gentle glow, and he smiles, a trembling little lopsided thing. _

_ “I want to try, if you do too.” He says softly, simply. Something wound tight in Jinyoung’s chest snaps and he can wheeze in a breath; Jaebeom’s brows pull together worriedly when tears roll from Jinyoung’s eyes, only for his expression to slacken in shock when Jinyoung lifts his hands to cup his cold cheeks, gently, carefully, like a single wrong move could shatter this fragile peace. _

_ “Thank you.” He croaks, trying to push every shred of his deep and profound gratitude into those two words. This, of all times, is the place to use them. Genuine amazement passing over his face, Jaebeom smiles again and reaches up to grasp Jinyoung’s wrists and tug them down, gently holding one hand but lifting his left again. _

_ “You’re welcome,” he whispers, carefully brushing away a few tears still pooled below Jinyoung’s eye, “don’t make me regret this.” He warns, still soft but wound tight below it. Jinyoung grips his hand tight and raises it between them, bowing his head to press a reverent kiss to the back of it.  _

_ “I swear on every Court that you won’t.” He rasps, lifting his head and meeting Jaebeom’s eyes again. There’s a warmth in them again, something missing since the day of the ceremony, thawing the lingering dread gripping Jinyoung’s heart. Something lighter fills out its place, something he can’t quite name something filling and glowing, tentative and happy. Something new, but more than worth the winding path taken towards it. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So!!!!! what did u think?!! this is sort of the end of the main fic, the next chapter is an epilogue of sorts in that the timeline flashes forward a bit, but it should be a full length chapter still!! i'll get sappy in the next and final update, but as always thank you for reading!! the last chapter will be uploaded not next week but the week after bc im once again super busy next weekend T~T but I hope this was enough to sate u for now!! as always, please come tell me your thoughts!! u can do so down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!!


	15. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we go friends!! last chapter!! more of an epilogue after a little time skip, but I hope u will enjoy it anyway!! I have two final songs for u [alan walker - darkside feat. au/ra and tomine harket](https://youtu.be/zgZWjm8qBws) and [indila - derniere danse](https://youtu.be/rEgRzLXqWUI) both are suuuuper good but I esp rec the second one for the latter half of the chapter!!! also, there's some more flower stuff in this chapter which u can look up [here](https://archive.org/stream/languageofflower00gree#page/n9/mode/2up), if u like, this is where I pulled most of the meanings from this chapter :^) enjoy!!!!

Winter seems to drag, yet pass too quickly at the same time. As the year rolls over Jaebeom finds himself enjoying the long bitter nights, the short frigid days, the cold and the snow and the ice, much more than he ever did as a human. He feels at home in it, relaxed and revelling in the season. Some of his friends however, aren’t so lucky.

“I fell over twice on my way here,” Bambam laments, shaking snow out of his hair as he slides into the booth opposite Jaebeom, “this is horrible. I can’t wait for spring.” Jaebeom certainly does not share that sentiment, though he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t seem to have to however: “I suppose it’s alright for you though, frosty the snowman,” he complains bitterly, prodding Jaebeom’s shin under the table with his foot, “why can’t you spread that around, huh?” He whines when Jaebeom snorts, though he gratefully accepts the tall mug of steaming tea pushed towards him. 

“If I figure out how, I’ll let you know.” He says amiably. One condition of his… arrangement with Jinyoung was that he not be stopped from living as much of a normal life as he can, at least for now. Hence he’s sat in a coffee shop with Bambam, to whom he has explained in as non-confusing a way as possible, what the hell has been going on with him recently. To his credit and Jaebeom’s surprise, Bambam took the news that his friend isn’t actually human anymore pretty well, though he seemed seconds away from calling an ambulance or something when Jaebeom first broached the subject. He came around pretty quickly when Jaebeom changed his glamour though and now he just thinks its halfway between cool and weird. 

“So how are things between you and Jinyoung?” He asks once he’s settled in and taken a few sips, shivering determinedly to warm up. Jaebeom sighs, folding his arms and resting them on the table. 

“Still- complicated,” he says haltingly; he’s not explained the full extent of what’s happened between him and Jinyoung, not wanting to dredge up the memories when he’s trying to move forwards and also not wanting to scare him, though he’s said enough to convey that Jinyoung is trying to make up for lying, “but I think- things are getting better.” Jinyoung, despite all of Jaebeom’s fears, is trying. He’s trying really hard, even though Jaebeom knows how frustrated he is, both with the slow pace of progress - which he also begrudgingly understands - and with himself, with his own struggle to understand a different way of thinking. Jaebeom has been surprised and - equally begrudgingly - impressed by his willingness to learn and more significantly by his patience. He isn’t rushing anything, taking the time to listen and to ask about things he doesn’t understand and taking time alone to think things through as well, regardless of said frustration. It’s nice. Relieving. And maybe,  _ maybe _ all the effort he’s putting in might be thawing the walls Jaebeom constructed around his heart a little faster than he anticipated. 

“Well, I’m glad to hear that,” Bambam says, warm but mostly uncomprehending, “I hope you guys work things out.” He beams and sips his tea. Jaebeom returns the smile and looks down at the scratched table and his folded arms. A rose, deep red with frost gathered on the tip of each petal, blooms on the back of his left hand, the thorny stem reaching down his forearm. His face warming marginally, Jaebeom tugs the sleeves of his hoodie down over his hands and clasps them under the table. 

“Me too.” He mumbles, ignoring Bambam’s coo. “How are you? Still dealing with the baby?” Here, “the baby” refers to a fresher who’s started working at Bambam’s cafe with him whom he’s having to mentor. Bambam only ever refers to him as “the baby” and such, Jaebeom has picked it up. Predictably, Bambam groans and flops into his seat dramatically.

“He managed to break a blender and the filter coffee machine on the same shift, I swear he’s cursed or something-” He laments, going on to rant for a good fifteen minutes about his antics. Jaebeom, who tried to interject and offer advice the first time this happened - he’s had to deal with his fair share of accident prone baristas - and was summarily shut down and glared at for even thinking about interrupting, stays quiet, nodding sagely and humming sympathetically where appropriate.

The rant is winding down when the back of Jaebeom’s neck starts prickling. Bambam pauses, cocking his head, when Jaebeom looks around, out of the window to catch Yugyeom’s eye. He’s glamoured visible, hovering just outside the shop with an odd expression on his face, flustered, almost shy. He smiles tremulously and beckons for him to come outside, eyes flicking meaningfully to Bambam and head shaking just slightly.

“Who’s that?” Bambam hisses; he’s staring wide-eyed at Yugyeom. Jaebeom, his curiosity - something that’s been getting sharper and sharper recently, so much so that he’s really starting to understand Mark better - aroused and suspicions growing, smiles.

“A friend of mine. Come say hi.” He says briskly, standing up and grabbing his jacket from the seat behind him. Bambam splutters a little, a little pink stain appearing high on his cheekbones, but he obeys when Jaebeom arches an eyebrow, lifting his chin and wrinkling his nose at him. Yugyeom’s expression gets more and more stricken as they approach and he seems to be trying to shrink and hide, something remarkably unsuccessful given how tall he is. “Hey,” Jaebeom chirps as the door swings shut behind them, “how’s it going?” The noise Yugyeom makes is halfway between a squeak and a wheeze and he looks like he’s seriously contemplating just straight up dropping his glamour to hide, staring at Bambam like he’s about to bite him. Bambam, his ears bright pink, smiles, bright and wide and very pretty. 

“Hi, I’m Bambam!” He says. Yugyeom makes the noise again, but manages to force out some strangled words too.

“Hello,” he squeaks, “Yugyeom. Is my name. Hello.” He shrinks impossibly smaller, something akin to despair passing over his face. Bambam honest-to-god  _ giggles _ , stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets and kicking at a patch of ice on the ground. His ears are bright red. Jaebeom would chalk it up to the cold, but he’s not feeling that generous.

“What are you doing here?” He asks brightly, not so secretly delighted at this turn of events. Yugyeom gapes at him and Bambam’s head snaps up, eyes wide like he’d forgotten Jaebeom was even there. 

“Oh!” Yugyeom blurts, clearly having forgotten too that he came here for a reason. Jaebeom smiles, filing all of this information away for later. Bambam’s still staring at Yugyeom when he glances over, all moony-eyed and flustered. “Yes. Um. His H- uh-” his eyes flick to Bambam and away again quickly- “Jinyoung. Was looking for you. He wanted to invite you to dance.” Oh. Well. Jaebeom had expected Yugyeom to be here on Jinyoung’s behest but this is a little more extravagant than he expected. Still, he muses, glaring half-heartedly at Bambam when he tears his eyes away from Yugyeom to coo, it’s not an  _ unwelcome  _ idea.

“Now?” Jaebeom asks briskly, pointedly ignoring Bambam’s prods to his arm. Yugyeom shakes his head though, his posture relaxing somewhat now he’s not the centre of Bambam’s attention. 

“Tonight. He’ll call at midnight, just meet him if you agree.” He says, an odd twinkle in his eyes. Jaebeom narrows his eyes at him for a moment, then plasters a smile on again when he just grins knowingly. 

“Okay,” he says through his teeth, “well, I have to go now.” He affects a breezy tone, knowing full well that Bambam will whine at him for leaving so early and sure enough, he’s not disappointed as he immediately gasps and smacks Jaebeom’s arm lightly. 

“We were having coffee, I only just got here-” not true, but Jaebeom’s not going to argue because it works rather well in his favour; he grins at Yugyeom, who suddenly looks very scared.

“I’m sure Yugyeom won’t mind hanging out with you before your next lecture.” He says cheerfully. Yugyeom’s expression slackens comically and he just gapes for a second before he starts coughing, his ears turning bright red both underneath and on his glamour. Interestingly, Bambam does the same, a pink flush creeping up his neck as he avoids Yugyeom’s eyes. 

“Oh, well- only if you don’t mind-” He says sheepishly, but Yugyeom, head snapping up and clearly not expecting this answer, nods. 

“Okay!” He chirps, a little too quickly. Bambam brightens and smiles sunnily and, his work done, Jaebeom steps away, smiling to himself and arching an eyebrow when Yugyeom, panicked but secretly pleased, shoots him a wide-eyed glance as Bambam, already chattering, leads him back into the cafe. Satisfied, Jaebeom leaves them to it. 

The rest of the day seems to crawl. Jaebeom had come home - still his same flat, at least while he finishes the last of his course, though he does now have to wear gloves to get through the gate - to a few sprigs of chickweed tied with a cluster of peach blossoms lying on the low wall. It was magicked so humans’ eyes glaze, sliding past it, so it was definitely for him. He set it up in a shallow vase on his bedroom windowsill; his flat is full of flowers now, dripping off every available surface, but none of them die, even those from the very beginning, and he doesn’t want to throw any of them out. It’s not like they’re an unpleasant burden to have.

It’s barely even half eleven when there’s a familiar noise from the kitchen window; a stone bouncing off glass. Jaebeom’s torn halfway between amusement that Jinyoung apparently couldn’t wait any longer and relief that  _ he  _ doesn’t have to wait anymore either. Clutching a sprig of the pale pink peach blossoms in one hand, Jaebeom locks up and hurries downstairs. 

Half-silhouetted under a streetlight and cutting an appropriately regal figure in his fine burgundy suit, Jinyoung waits for him at his gate. He smiles, a huge happy thing that lights up his whole face, when Jaebeom pushes the door open, soothing his automatic fear of being underdressed in jeans and a shirt - stupid since his clothes always change whenever he visits Jinyoung’s Court - with his way of staring at Jaebeom like he’s the only thing in sight worth looking at. 

“Good evening,” Jinyoung says, soft and a little nervous, a tone Jaebeom’s still not used to hearing from him, “I’m a little early.” Jaebeom’s laugh is a little squeaky, his breath invisible while Jinyoung’s billows from him in misty clouds. 

“That’s okay,” he mumbles, trudging forwards and slipping through the gate Jinyoung holds open with a grateful smile - he’d forgotten his gloves upstairs, while Jinyoung is wearing a pair, “I’ve been ready for a while.” Jinyoung blinks, shock flitting over his face before it’s replaced by an even wider, even prettier smile. Jaebeom’s face warms up marginally and he looks away; since this whole mess started resolving, Jinyoung’s been wearing his emotions much more openly on his face, everything, from frustration to regret to this simple blinding happiness. Jaebeom isn’t sure how to feel about it. Objectively, it’s a good thing that he’s being more open with him in general, but personally, it’s making his heart skip a lot of beats and faery or not, Jaebeom’s not sure that’s healthy. 

“Good,” Jinyoung say, relief tangible in his voice, “may I?” He strips off his gloves, shoves them carelessly into a pocket and offers out a hand. Jaebeom stares at his hand for a good few seconds while he short circuits. 

“Did-” he squeaks, voice cracking mortifyingly, “did you w- did you wear gloves just to open the gate for me?” He asks, lifting his gaze to catch Jinyoung’s. He looks stricken, shocked, like he can’t believe he’s been caught. He opens his mouth, shuts it again, then looks away towards the tear open between two trees across the road with a disgruntled expression, but his hand is still raised between them. Jaebeom waits for an answer, but when none is forthcoming he assumes that that answer is yes and, grinning like an idiot, takes Jinyoung’s hand, skin so warm it almost burns. “You don’t need to do that.” He says quietly, lacing their fingers together and dragging Jinyoung forwards. He gets a scoff then Jinyoung catches up the step behind he’d fallen.

“I know.” He says haughtily, but he squeezes Jaebeom’s hand a little tighter. He won’t look over when Jaebeom glances at him either, nose in the air all dignified; Jaebeom bites his lip on a laugh and looks away again. 

Through the tear is a familiar scene; the clearing from their first dance, the sky a dusk red with soft music drifting through amber leaves and flowers of all kinds blooming amongst ankle high grass, though this time they’re alone. Jaebeom glances down to see his glamour fizzle into nothing, plain clothes dissolving into something much nicer, tailored jacket and trousers into smooth leather boots, all in navy blue and trimmed with white. The grass crunches under his heels, frost gathering on leaves and flowers around his feet, pinks and pimpernels glittering in the directionless light. The same has happened to the blossom in his hand, petals stiff under his thumb. 

Jinyoung’s looking at him when he lifts his head, something warm and awed glittering in his shifting eyes. They’ve fallen to a stop, a few steps into the clearing. Jaebeom licks his lips, watching Jinyoung’s eyes unconsciously follow his tongue, then lifts the blossom between them, holding it gently by the stalk.

“I know what this means.” He says simply. Peach blossoms, when given:  _ I am your captive _ . Jinyoung’s eyes drag from his lips, settling on the flower for a moment before meeting Jaebeom’s again. 

“I know.” He says, just as simply. There’s trepidation in his gaze though, worry Jaebeom’s still not used to seeing from him. Jaebeom bites hard on the inside of his cheek and tilts his head.

“And are you?” He asks, remarkably steadily considering how hard his heart is beating at the back of his throat. Jinyoung blinks a few times, then his fingers tighten on Jaebeom’s.

“I have been for a time now.” His voice is even, but a little thick. Jaebeom looks back to the flower, by now completely frozen, beautiful but so delicate. He smiles. Jinyoung twitches when he lifts his head and tucks it behind his own ear, jaw clenching like he's holding back from saying something, multi-coloured eyes wide and liquid. Jaebeom looks away, surveying the meadow critically and squeezing Jinyoung's hand when he spies what he's after. 

Jinyoung, remarkably, still doesn't say anything, simply following when Jaebeom drags him over to the treeline, to a bush laden with pure white roses. He stays silent while Jaebeom eyes the flowers, reaches for the most perfect, half open and dewy, and snaps it off between his fingers. He looks fit to burst with the effort of it when Jaebeom turns back to him, jaw locked and lips pressed together, a pretty pink flush sitting high on his cheeks. Jaebeom, equally silent, smiles again and steps into him, satisfaction purring in his belly when Jinyoung's breath catches. He slips the stem into a buttonhole on Jinyoung's lapel, fingertips lingering on the now frozen petals and smoothing down the front of Jinyoung's jacket. Stunned, Jinyoung's mouth opens but nothing comes out except a reedy gasp; they're close enough that his breath warms Jaebeom's lips. 

"You wanted to dance?" Jaebeom says, aiming for light and innocent but his voice comes out a little hoarser than he intended. Jinyoung visibly swallows, blinking mutely at him. "Lead the way." He prompts, trying not to grin. Jinyoung starts and flushes and tugs on his hand, pulling him back into the centre of the clearing. 

"The Courts really do suit you, Jaebeom." Jinyoung mumbles, almost like he doesn't want to be heard. Jaebeom does grin at that, the idea no longer filling him with dread. 

Jinyoung draws him to a stop, turns back to him and lifts his hand. Jaebeom squeezes his fingers, smiling when Jinyoung cocks his head and stepping into him again, other palm settling onto his shoulder. Something mischievous sparkles in Jinyoung's eyes; rather than just rest a hand on his side, Jinyoung snakes his arm around Jaebeom's waist, dragging him that last bit closer. The music, until now soft and blending into the background, swells a little louder, breaking into a lilting waltz. Jaebeom lets Jinyoung lead, following his steps easily. It’s a different feeling to the last time they were here, less overwhelming, but just as freeing. This time, he’s truly here because he wants to be.

The music picks up, swelling faster. As it does, feet moving faster than his conscious mind catches, Jaebeom finds himself laughing, spinning out when Jinyoung prompts before dragging him back in himself. He’s beaming too, eyes whiskered at the corners. They sharpen, slicing into him when he grabs the back of his neck instead of his shoulder.

“I should have asked you to dance sooner.” He rasps, surprisingly breathless. Jaebeom laughs as he steps backwards, Jinyoung stepping into him. He slides his hand back down to his shoulder, a sheen of frost melting into water behind it.

“Maybe you should’ve.” He replies, just a little cheekily. Jinyoung huffs but his smile doesn’t dim, fingers curling at the curve of Jaebeom’s waist. His eyes drag over Jaebeom’s face like he’s memorising it, like he’s some priceless piece of art, the same way he always looks at him but his open reverent regard isn’t usually so close. Jaebeom swallows thickly and licks his lips, heart thudding in his throat when his eyes drop to them again, riveted even as neither of their steps falter. 

Jinyoung wants to kiss him. This is a fact, one that hasn’t changed since before the ceremony. Nowadays, Jaebeom often wants to kiss him back, but up to now, they haven’t. It’s been a natural consequence of taking things slowly, though at times a frustrating one. More so to Jaebeom, he thinks; Jinyoung’s been too caught up in understanding and getting frustrated at the slow emotional progress, while Jaebeom knows his own feelings and is getting a handle on Jinyoung’s now he knows he’s not hiding anything so instead is caught in this other bottleneck. It’s not been one he’s been ready to bypass though, not while everything was still raw and open and bleeding.

Now, watching Jinyoung staring at his lips but biting his tongue on the question he so obviously wants to ask, the question he doesn’t want to impose on the fragile tapestry weaving between them with every meeting, the question he won’t ask, Jaebeom finds himself once again frustrated. But now, now he’s no longer bleeding.

“Jinyoung.” He says, voice tense even to his own ears. Jinyoung blinks, eyes dragging up almost unwillingly, but they soften from molten want into something nervous, something guilty. He slows them to a stop, grip tightening on Jaebeom’s waist; he makes to step away, the start of an apology forming on his lips. “Kiss me.” It comes out as a demand, his hand fisting Jinyoung’s jacket to stop him moving; he’d been aiming for a question, but Jinyoung doesn’t seem offended, just shocked. He’s stricken for a good few seconds, long enough for Jaebeom’s nerve to break, but as soon as he gulps and lets go, breath coming out shaky, Jinyoung surges forwards, both hands cradling Jaebeom’s face.

His lips are just as soft as Jaebeom remembers, but his kiss feels different. Gentler, more hesitant but somehow desperate, like he’s afraid Jaebeom will change his mind and push him away so he has to take what chance he can get. No such reservations himself, Jaebeom grabs his waist, fingers twisting in the smooth silk of his jacket; Jinyoung shivers, a muffled little noise lost into Jaebeom’s mouth when he presses closer and parts his lips. He tastes of syrup and smoke, but this time it’s not drugging, nothing unnaturally alluring, just an exchange between equals.

Jinyoung’s the one to pull back, breath a little uneven. He stares at Jaebeom like he lit the sun himself, palms dropping to his shoulders; breath hard himself, Jaebeom grins, releasing Jinyoung’s jacket - now sparkling with frost - to loop both arms around his neck. He goes to lean back in, but Jinyoung stops him, palms braced against his chest.

“Jaebeom,” he says, a little strangled, eyes glossy with an emotion Jaebeom by now recognises as- “”I am so very in love with you.” That. Jaebeom gapes at him, stunned silent, hands dropping to grip his shoulders. He  _ knew _ , everyone knows, Jinyoung had to be-  _ that _ for the stupid ceremony to work, but he’s never said it aloud before. Never committed the words to air, to the oath he took to tell Jaebeom the whole truth. He looks a little dazed, like he hadn’t quite meant on doing so, but he squares his shoulders and smiles, a shaky little thing, fingers clenching in the silk of Jaebeom’s jacket. “I hope- that’s not-” he stops, looks down, jaw clenching irritably as he struggles for words- “that is, if you- you don’t have to- return the sentiment. I just-” 

Jinyoung honest-to-god  _ squeaks  _ when Jaebeom drags him in and kisses him again, burying both hands in his hair and holding him still. He’s definitely gasping when they part again, bright pink splotches sat high on his cheeks and a confused but tentatively hopeful furrow to his brows.

“You really are an idiot,” Jaebeom says, far too fondly even to his own ears, “I love you. I still do.” Jinyoung’s breath rushes out and he blinks once, twice, gold starting to glitter at the corners of his eyes, before he breaks into the most beautiful smile. 

“Thank you.” He says, for the second time. Jaebeom shakes his head with a huffed laugh, his own eyes prickling too; he pulls Jinyoung close again, pressing a kiss to the corner of his smile and wrapping both arms around him before burying his face into his neck. He glimpses a new flower on the back of his hand; a single pure white chrysanthemum beaded with frozen droplets, forget-me-nots and lily-of-the-valley twined in clusters around the stem; he hides a smile, breathing in the scents of wood smoke and falling leaves and just holding Jinyoung tight.

“Thank you for listening.” He rasps, closing his eyes and squeezing a little tighter when Jinyoung laughs wetly and returns the embrace, a little clumsy but endearingly so, like he’s never really hugged anyone before but he’s trying his best. 

Jaebeom takes a deep breath, slowly blinking his eyes open to stare out over the clearing, the sunless sky, the trees, the flowers, the colours all that bit too rich, the air just somehow different to the world beyond. And now, here of all places with the Prince of Autumn in his arms and his very nature changed to that which he’s always feared, Jaebeom feels like himself again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so T~T we have come to the end!!! I hope u all enjoyed this chapter and the whole story!!! I really loved writing this, it's one of my fave things ive ever written, so all of the love it's been getting has meant so much to me TT~TT thank you all so much!!!!!! please come let me know what you thought of the ending and the whole story down in the comments or on [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/) or [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles)!! U can also follow me on twt if u want to know what I might be writing next <3 thank you again!!!! <3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> As always, please come talk to me!! you can do so down below or on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/jbibbles) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/jbibbles/)!!


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